Recovering Faith
by pisces317
Summary: After House comes home from rehab, he and Wilson try to start over with their relationship. But what happens when an unexpected guest arrives and shatters everything they've worked so hard to fix? Slash, Violence and Angst incl. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Recovering Faith**

**Author: Megan (mmorgan317) and Charity (all things)**

**Rating:NC-17 for content**

**Summary: After House comes home from rehab, he and Wilson try to start over with their relationship. But what happens when an unexpected guest arrives and shatters everything they've worked so hard to fix? **

**Spoilers: Spoilers for previous fic ****Shattered Innocence**

**Disclaimer: We own nothing, just borrowing them. **

**Author's Notes:** **Takes place 1yr after Shattered Innocence. Please read that first so you know what's going on.

* * *

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**Chapter 1:**

"Today is a big day," Nolan announced quietly from his overstuffed chair. His calculated look and prying eyes focused on House from a few feet distance between their chairs. Thoughtfulness and encouragement shown from his dark orbs, giving House a sense of calm, like he was understood and accepted. That was a feeling he'd only experienced around Wilson and, on occasions, Cuddy or his mom. He felt safe here, even if he'd never admit it. It was like he couldn't hurt anyone here.

This last year in Mayfield had been the hardest year of his life. First coming off the Vicodin and alcohol, then tramping down his pride to get the help he really needed. Oh, he had hated every minute of it at first. In fact, he still hated it but not as much. Now, he would look back on those six months with Wilson and not help but notice his downward spiral. It sickened him to think that he had hurt the most precious person in his life. But that was all in the past and Wilson had forgiven him long ago. Nolan said to move on from past events but look back on them every so often to remind one of their lessons. House was determined never to repeat history in this instance.

"Have you talked to him lately?" the black man asked in his deep, clinical voice.

House nodded. "I called him yesterday." Wilson has mostly made a full recovery from all of his injures, much to House's relief. He has some weakness in his left leg from the hip surgery and even some pain once in a while but those were to be expected when a middle-aged man has had minimal hip replacement surgery. The only scars that were left (other than the one from the surgery) were the ones that formed the message on the oncologist's back. Those would be a permanent reminder of the whole nightmarish ordeal, something House was not proud of.

"I'm sure he'll be happy to have you home," Nolan volunteered. He had found the case of Gregory House to be an interesting study. It was the perfect example of fear, pride, and arrogance mixed together; fear of failure and unimportance countered by a mass of prideful arrogance that inhibited him from admitting to anything less than excellent.

But probably almost as interest as House, was his partner, James Wilson. Having only met the man three times, he didn't know him well enough to say anything definite except that he is the classic case of an abused man. But at the same time there was something more to him that seemed to make him impossible to understand.

There seemed to be a hidden strength in James Wilson that he very rarely let anyone see. Nolan didn't know if it was because he wanted everyone to underestimate him and therefore it would lower their expectations of him, if he had only recently acquired it, or whether James himself didn't know he had it.

Either way it was because of this strength and resolved that Nolan agreed to allow the two men to go back to living together. While he wanted House to have someone around to provide constant support he wasn't one-hundred percent sure that the support should come from the man that he had abused so severely. However, the psychiatrist also knew that it would be futile to keep the two lovers apart and thought it easier to sanction their decisions to relieve the pressure off his patient.

In all of his experience as a psychiatrist, rarely has he ever met any two people as intriguing as his patient, House, and his boyfriend.

* * *

House walked out of Mayfield a free man. Free from his dependence on alcohol and Vicodin, free from his incarceration in the dreaded place and free from his past. He walked out to find Wilson waiting for him just like he promised. What he hadn't mentioned was that Cuddy was coming too.

They both leaned against Wilson's silver Volvo seemingly the epitome of relaxed; only the anxiousness in Cuddy's blue-grey eyes and excitement mixed with anxiousness in Wilson's eyes alerted House to how they really felt.

He understood both of their feelings and felt them himself. Over the past year he had grown to trust himself more than he had before. Not when it came to his job, of course since he didn't need any help with that but he had learned to trust himself with Wilson. Nolan had helped him grow more secure in his relationship with the oncologist and had even managed to get them to talk about their feelings of the six month relationship between the two.

House had been amazed at how easy it had been to express his regret, remorse and sadness to Wilson. Wilson had returned the offer of trust by accepting his feelings and trying to assure his friend that he held no grudge against him, though they would definitely have to work on rebuilding their trust. House had nodded and hung his head in defeat. He knew that that was the one thing that had been lost and would be the most difficult to get back but he was also willing to do anything to make sure it was regained.

Wilson was the first to see House. Automatically, moving himself off the car, he began walking to him. He had a limp on his left side but it had definitely improved from the last time House had seen him a couple of months ago.

Not caring for any restrictions anyone may have placed on the two of them Wilson threw his arms around House's neck and held on tightly. He had missed his friend so much over the last year and it had taken all his strength to not mope around like a dog that had lost its master while he had been gone.

Recovery from House's last beating had taken a lot of time, patience and strength. In between work and physical therapy Wilson had also gone to a therapist. It had been one of Cuddy's proviso's for returning back to work that he find one and go regularly, only recently had he managed to talk his way out of going anymore.

Dr. Reynolds had helped him find some inner strength and helped him try to realize that what his father, wife and House had done to him wasn't normal or right. She'd told him that she would only allow him to return to full duty (currently he was on part time) once he'd learned to stand up for himself which he'd done last week by telling her he didn't need to see her anymore and that he was done.

Wilson felt strong and trembling arms wrap around his waist, embracing him just as tightly as he was holding House. They stayed like that until both of their bodies began to object to the stance then they drew apart and began walking to the car.

"You didn't tell me Cuddy would be joining." House accused lightly.

"Yeah, she wanted to be here when you got out to." Wilson answered hoping to hide his wince and the truth.

"No she didn't." House supplied. "She doesn't fully trust me around you."

Wilson's heart ached with sympathy at the defeated tone in his friend's voice, "Well, she may not but I do." He assured. The oncologist knew that no matter how many times he let House know that he forgave him, the scruffy, taciturn doctor would always need more and he was more than willing to give it.

Cuddy walked up to them with a smile plastered on her face and gave House a welcoming hug. She was very glad to see her friend again and healthy at that but she found it very hard to forgive him the things he did to Wilson. She knew that Wilson had forgiven House and that the younger man trusted the diagnostician immensely but she couldn't forgive and forget that easily.

Throughout Wilson's recovery, Cuddy had been there every step of the way. She'd grown closer to him during this past year not only emotionally but boundary-wise as well. She knew perfectly well that Wilson held everyone at arms length; no matter how well you got to know him or how close you think you got, you still didn't know the real Wilson. During those months of pain, exhaustion and determination, Cuddy had helped him get through it all and had felt a few of his walls crumble during that time. They both agreed to disagree where House and Wilson's relationship was concerned, future or present, but they also felt a sense of closeness that had been missing over the past few years.

"Well, I think that's enough pleasantries," House began after clearing his throat, "let's blow this joint." With that he walked over to the car and began to get in the back seat, through some unspoken understanding all three of them had determined that House wasn't to be driving any time soon.

Wilson stopped House with a hand on his arm, "You take the front seat, there's more leg room."

House wanted to argue that Wilson was probably in more need of the leg room than he was but then he'd remind them all once again of what he'd done and that was something House couldn't do right now. He nodded, earning a scoff from Cuddy.

"House would be fine if he sat behind me," She argued addressing both of them, "Wilson you should be in the front." She didn't explain her reasons because she knew she didn't have to; she'd seen House's thoughts just before he nodded.

"If House would be fine in the backseat then so would I," Wilson countered, "seeing as he's taller than I am." He finished his argument with a smirk and a reassuring look of 'I'm fine'.

"Okay," she conceded before she walked over to the driver's side door.

They all got in then Cuddy pulled away. The ride back to Princeton was spent in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, surprisingly, but it wasn't relaxed either. Neither one of them knew what to expect when they got home. They all wanted things to go back to normal but each had doubts as to whether or not things could.

The car pulled up to the curb beside House's apartment. House felt his heart stop a beat as memories rushed back with enough clarity that he could be experiencing it all again.

"House?" Wilson's soft voice called, breaking through his fears and warming his heart.

House looked up to find Wilson holding his door open and waiting for the diagnostician to climb out of the car. He gracefully climbed out and walked into the apartment. Wilson had taken good care of it while he'd been gone and he'd also left everything just as it was. The only evidence that Wilson lived there as were the little things that merged with his own; books, CD's, DVD's and knick knacks. He looked to his left and found Wilson standing beside him, waiting patiently.

"Well, I'm going to leave you two alone. I'll see you Monday?" Cuddy asked.

"Yeah, we'll be there." Wilson answered. He'd already discussed things with Nolan and House and both of them had agreed that returning to work was a good way to get things on their way to normal.

The medical board had suspended House's license to practice medicine and he'd have to re-certify to take over the diagnostic's department but for right now he was going to be consulting while Foreman ran things. House had been close to overjoyed with the prospect of being able to solve the puzzles while Foreman was stuck with all the responsibility and clerical work.

Cuddy nodded her acknowledgement then stepped forward and gave Wilson a hug good-bye before exiting the premises.

For lack of anything else better to do both men collapsed onto the leather couch while Wilson grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Normally they'd add drinking beer to the routine but Wilson had rid the apartment of anything alcoholic while House had been in rehab and had no intention of ever bringing anything back in. "Want a soda?" He offered casually while some girls on spring break tore off their tops.

"Yeah," House replied noncommittally, keeping his eyes focused on good old fashioned crap TV. It felt so unbelievably good to be home, sitting on his couch and watching TV with his friend that he feared if he said anything more he'd tear up.

Wilson stiffly stood up wincing slightly at the ache in his hip, then went and grabbed two Cokes. He walked slowly to allow his hip to loosen up as he did so; the ride there and back had caused his hip to stiffen and slightly throb with too quick of movement. He didn't care; it had been worth it to see House when he exited.

He walked back to the couch, handing House his soda before he gingerly lowered himself back onto the leather bed. Okay, so the couch wasn't that comfortable but there had been plenty of nights in the past where that's exactly what this sofa had represented to the oncologist.

"You okay?" House asked as his blue eyes focused on the man beside him instead of the TV. Wilson's hand had snaked down to his hip and had begun to massage it, catching House's full and undivided attention.

"Yeah, just aching." Wilson replied while laying a soft hand on House's left thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze.

House's first instinct was to rub the hurting hip himself but he quickly repressed the urge and settled for nodding, "Okay." He said as he checked his watch and his stomach rumbled. "So, what's for dinner?"

Wilson laughed warmly, the crow's feet at the corner of his eyes wrinkling sexily. "I thought we'd go out for dinner if you're up to it."

"Perfect," House answered, getting off the couch, "let me take a shower and change then we can go." He limped off to the bathroom, stopping at the hall closet for a fresh towel before he closed the door behind him.

Wilson collapsed sprawled over the couch, groaning lightly when his hip protested the quick movement. This was harder than he thought! He knew that they both wanted things to go back to normal but the oncologist was honestly lost as to how to get them there and he could tell that his friend was equally as lost.

_There's always sex. _A voice akin to House's suggested.

_We couldn't do that! _His own argued. _Could we?_

_Sure, why not? _House's asked with an invisible shrug and challenge.

While Wilson lay on the couch contemplating that idea, wondering why he and House shouldn't engage in an activity that would, no doubt, bring pleasure and comfort to both of them, House had finished his shower and limped out into the living room unnoticed by his friend. He stood in the doorway to the hallway, watching the younger man as he lay on the couch.

Wilson was laying on a throw pillow with his right hand behind his head while his left lay limply on his stomach. His face was slack with concentration and his eyes looking up at the ceiling. Even still, House could see the confusion, contemplation and small hint of pain in them. He understood the confusion, they were all confused, but that didn't make it any easier to solve.

House cleared his throat to grab Wilson's attention. The oncologist's eyes refocused from the ceiling onto his face. "You ready?" he asked somewhat awkwardly.

"Yeah, just let me change then we can go." Wilson answered, easing himself off the couch.

"Why didn't you do that while I was in the shower?" House asked though he knew that his friend had lost track of time and wasn't paying attention. His lip curled up at Wilson's answer.

"Didn't want to deprive you of the honor of watching me get naked." Wilson said hoping he managed to sound off-handed when he was actually trying not to tremble with nerves. He couldn't hide the blush at his friend's almost feral lip curl. He knew exactly what that meant and didn't think they'd be going to dinner any time soon.

Pretending not to notice House's longing stare, Wilson walked into the bedroom and began to undress. He'd been at work for a few hours before he and Cuddy went to pick House up. He wanted nothing more than to get out of the slacks and into a fresh shirt and loose jeans. Since he'd almost been late to work this morning, Wilson hadn't bothered changing his undershirt and had just thrown the soft blue dress shirt on over it so he was stripped down to his boxer-briefs when House entered.

Wilson had his back to House when the diagnostician had entered but at the not-so-well-disguised gasp of shock, he quickly spun around, cheeks crimson with embarrassment. He'd forgotten that House hadn't seen his back and wanted to face-palm himself for letting him see it now. If there was one thing that would be a mood killer, it would be the scarred message on his back. "Sorry," he apologized though neither man knew why he was doing the apologizing, "I needed to change my undershirt as well."

House kept his face stone blank and devoid of emotion. He limped over to Wilson and pulled him in a lovingly gentle embrace, rubbing soothing circles on the younger man's ivory skin. Since he couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't overly cheesy, House settled for pulling slightly back and covering Wilson's wonderfully sensual mouth with his own.

Wilson automatically responded by opening his mouth and gently nipping House's lower lip while the older man did the same to his top. They pulled back for air, "I don't think we're going to make it to dinner if we keep going this way," the oncologist warned silkily.

House grinned and sultry fire burned in his eyes, "That's fine with me."

Wilson chuckled huskily in his throat then leaned back in and continuing their kiss.

They moved towards the bed, Wilson stripping House as they did so, and eased themselves onto it. They both knew there was a big chance that by the time they got around to eating they'd be stuck with Chinese, Tai or Pizza take-out but neither one cared. Tonight, it was about them re-meeting each other again and letting the sparks fly without the past to convolute their emotions.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

The next day House and Wilson were sitting in the hospital cafeteria eating in their usual manner, Wilson eating his own meal and House eating both of their meals, when Wilson tentatively brought up a subject he'd been debating over for the past three months. "Do you think we should move to a different apartment?"

House dropped his fork, the metal clattering to the ground and echoing around them. "What? Why?" He asked shocked that Wilson had even brought it up. He wasn't against moving but he wasn't sure if his friend was mentioning this because House wanted to move or he did. House wasn't going to move just because Wilson was incapable of turning his "people pleasing" persona off.

"Well, I think it would be nice to move to a new place and start over." Wilson supplied hesitantly. "But we don't have to if you don't want to." He quickly added still noting the shocked expression on his friend's face.

"It's fine. If you want, we can start looking for places." House answered off-handedly.

"Wha-, are you sure?" Wilson asked confused as to why he wasn't getting more resistance. House had been living in that apartment for years; Wilson had expected him to put up more of a fight.

House shrugged, "Yeah. Your logic is undeniable."

"Okay, I'll grab a newspaper and start looking." Wilson said before he finished the last bite on his plate.

"Great," House answered grabbing his now shrilling pager, "gotta go. My patient's refusing treatment." He got up and limped off huffily.

Wilson laughed to himself. If House's patients really knew what was good for them, they wouldn't refuse treatment ever.

He scooped up the trays of food after having piled the empty plates and dirty silverware neatly on top then dumped the items in their pre-ordained spots. He grabbed a paper and handed the cashier the change then went to his office to peruse the Classified Section for twenty minutes before he began his patient rounds. Apartment hunting with House was NOT going to be fun but if it meant they could start over without the past hunting them then so be it.

* * *

Three weeks later Wilson knows he was right. Apartment hunting with House wasn't fun but they did manage to find a place and the oncologist has been packing for the last three days. The more stuff he clears off the shelves and cupboards, the more boxes that pile up and the more he ends up having to move the heavy boxes around. It isn't fun nor easy on his back or hip but he knows that House would never do it and he doesn't want either one of them tripping over the mess that is their living room.

It's Thanksgiving Day and Wilson is preparing the feast. He was thoroughly exhausted from all the packing, moving the boxes and his own job so he was glad that it was just going to be the two of them for dinner; it meant that he didn't have to try too hard to cook a big meal, just something simple that they both would like.

A knock sounded at the door, startling him. Wilson heard the _step thump_ of House so he ignored the door and kept cooking. Dinner was almost done so he grabbed a couple plates to put the food on, wincing when he put weight on his left leg.

"Greg!" a female voice called from the living room.

Wilson turned around after shutting off the burners and taking the two whole chickens out of the oven. He was surprised to see Blythe and John House standing in House's living room but didn't comment. Instead he turned his attention back to dinner and waited for the time when it was necessary to speak.

When they had first gotten together, House had been very reluctant to tell his parents about them and Wilson had respected his wishes. They both understood that neither one of their families would be happy to hear that their sons were dating another man instead of a woman so they decided that it wasn't anyone's business but their friends and true family (Cuddy and the ducklings).

"James," he heard Blythe call from the living room in surprise, "I didn't know you were going to be here."

Wilson turned around from carving up the chickens with an uncomfortable smile on his face, "Yeah, thought I'd make some dinner for us." He offered.

House gave him an 'Oh, please!' eye roll then strode over and pulled the oncologist in for a deep kiss earning shocked gasps from his parents.

House was tired of trying to hide. He'd spent his whole childhood hiding the fact that he found other boys attractive from his father. Not anymore.

"What happened to not telling them?" Wilson hissed in shock while their faces were still close enough so that only they would hear what was being said.

House shrugged, "Decided I didn't care if they knew or not." He let his blue eyes bore into Wilson's brown and finish the sentence for him - _I'm not ashamed of us._

Wilson raised his left eyebrow then pulled House back down for another kiss, not caring about another shocked gasp that could be heard or that he saw House's father's face turn fourteen shades of red.

House pulled away and spun around to face his parents, "Wilson's here for much more than to make dinner, if you know what I mean." He told them crudely.

"Gregory!" John House objected harshly. Blythe House blushed but didn't make a comment. John took a few moments to calm down before he spoke to his son again, "Can I talk to you for a minute?" He ground out though it came out sounding more like a statement than a question.

"Nope." House answered lightly though he instinctively put himself between John and Wilson.

Wilson noticed the gesture with no little amount of awe and satisfaction. He hadn't seen House be protective of him like this before and he kind of liked it, though he didn't need the protection.

John wasn't taking that answer however and grabbed his son's forearm, dragging him into the hallway where both Wilson and Blythe could clearly hear him yelling.

They both blushed at John's demands to his son to "stop this foolishness and find someone he's supposed to be with" but for different reasons. Wilson felt shame creep into his heart at those words and for a minute he wondered if he really was good for House. He quickly pushed the thought out of his mind when he heard House snark that he is with that person.

Blythe felt shame and embarrassment color her cheeks at her husband's words. She didn't care WHO Gregory was with as long as that person made him happy and as far as she was concerned, that person was James. She didn't understand her husband's prejudice against gay people and she certainly didn't agree with it.

The two House men walked back into the kitchen, lending the air a feel of tension that a person could easily choke on. Wilson rolled up his sleeves and began to, once again, carve the chickens. He had a nice sweater on and didn't want it to get dirty plus it was getting VERY hot in there.

Blythe, having had years of practice with separating her boys when they were at odds with each other, stepped up. "Greg, would you help me with some things from the car? We brought some gifts for you, and James, because we won't be here for Christmas but I won't be able to get them all up here by myself."

House knew what his mother was doing and while he was normally grateful for it, it made him nervous to leave his father alone with his friend. He didn't think his father would do anything to Wilson but it wasn't a chance he really wanted to take. He stole a glance at Wilson who gave him an encouraging head nod before turning back to cutting chicken.

Blythe and House left while John came into the kitchen next to Wilson. They stood in uncomfortable silence while Wilson finished carving the chickens. He turned around and put the knife in the sink then returned for the cutting board.

He'd always insisted on using his own cutting board when cooking at House's place. House really didn't have one which only helped make it necessary that Wilson bring his own. It wasn't very big, a standard cutting board size, but it was made of thick, heavy marble. So when Wilson felt a strong, tight hand grab his left forearm and squeeze painfully, he dropped the cutting board.

It landed heavily on his left foot before it clattered thickly onto the floor. Wilson yelped but the strong hand did not withdraw, if anything it held on tighter.

"I don't know what kind of sick joke you two think you're playing but it needs to stop." John House growled in his ear.

"Mr. House, this is no joke – ah!" Wilson began, crying out quietly in pain as his arm was wrenched behind his back.

Before either of them had a chance to speak, the door clicked open and John's hand released Wilson's arm. Wilson gently rubbed his aching left arm then bent down to pick up the cutting board. He limped heavily over to the sink, inwardly wincing when he realized he'd have to lie to House and possibly make him feel guiltier because of it.

He rinsed the board off, wincing when it strained his arm then washed his hands. Nothing else he had to do tonight for dinner would involve him needing his sleeves rolled up so once he finished Wilson rolled his sweater sleeves back down, covering the already forming bruise on his forearm.

He turned around to see both House and Blythe trying to balance a few boxes and immediately went over to help, his upbringing overruling instincts. He began to feel sorry for himself when House's eyes slit in curiosity and concern. Wilson knew House wouldn't believe him when he'd lie and would continue to bug him until he got the truth; something he wasn't too keen on saying.

"Thank you James." Blythe said, grateful when Wilson took a couple of her boxes and placed them on top of a pile of moving boxes. "Well, we'd better be going. We have a plane to catch."

"Of course. It was nice to see you again." Wilson intoned politely though his eyes never met House's father.

Blythe gave him a gentle, motherly hug then turned on her son and did the same. She leaned back saying, "I'm glad that you've finally found someone who has made you happy."

House blushed, "Have a good flight." He wished as he limped over and opened the door. He allowed his mother to give him a kiss on the cheek before exiting and barely restrained himself from squeezing the hell out of his father's hand when he shook it good bye.

He was furious at his father for the things he said. He wasn't surprised but that didn't mean that he had wanted Wilson to hear every objection that his father had made. He wondered what his father had said to Wilson while he was gone.

He watched Wilson heavily limp into the kitchen with a diagnostician's concentration, frowning when his mind came close to the realm of a conclusion. Wilson hadn't been limping this badly when he'd left with his mom. Granted, standing for long periods of time in addition to all the moving, lifting and packing the oncologist has been doing could make his hip hurt worse but House didn't think that was it.

For one thing, House had seen Wilson after he'd overused his body too much and the limp still wasn't this pronounced. He knew Wilson hadn't bumped it into anything so that wasn't it. And the way the younger man seemed to favor his foot while limping made House think it was something else entirely.

House kept silent throughout dinner and their usual routine of TV watching. He made sure to keep Wilson in his peripheral vision while they watched so he could judge Wilson's physical state, hiding the frown when he often became unhappy with what he was seeing. Wilson was in pain and by the looks of it no little amount either, yet he wasn't saying anything or inclined to do anything about it. It worried House why his friend didn't want to acknowledge his own hurts but it also made the older man curious.

Wilson has never been a whiner when it comes to physical pain. Emotional, sure, you couldn't shut the man up if you wanted to once he got going but with anything physical, he kept it to himself hence why he was able to hide that his wife had been beating him for months.

House supposed it had something to do with the fact that the oncologist watched his friend and lover walk around in considerable pain all the time and therefore felt he had not right to complain when he hurt but in his opinion that was crap.

He let his mind wander through all the times he could remember Wilson being physically hurt in the past fifteen years and tried to think if he'd ever complained about it or mentioned it. He came up with a few instances. Like when Wilson had sprained his ankle back after they'd first met. Wilson hadn't had to worry about mentioning it because he was put on crutches but he had complained. Okay, okay, maybe it was more he mentioned semi-angrily that it hurt after House had nudged the sprained joint with his foot to get the oncologist's attention. Man had he been whiney then!

The more he thought about it, the more he noticed that the only times Wilson didn't complain, justly or unjustly, about whatever injury he had was when someone else had caused it. There'd been a couple times during the infarction that House had been unintentionally mean and had whacked his friend on the side or the leg with his cane often resulting in Wilson favoring that side or limping in order to favor the leg. Sure, he hadn't been able to actually use the cane yet, but it had come in handy when it came to things like drawing attention to him or taking his anger out.

The other times others have hurt Wilson and he never said a thing was when his wife was abusing him or House had done it himself. In both instances, the damage had been severe enough to leave the oncologist limping or moving as little as possible but he never said anything to anyone because he cared about the person who had done the hurting. House knew that he hadn't touched Wilson (and he never would) and that Julie was no where near in the picture which meant that the person who had done the hurting was close to someone that Wilson cared about. He felt his eyes turn ice blue at the only possible conclusion but kept his anger tempered until he got it out of Wilson.

They went to bed but instead of going to his side of the bed, House sat in a chair across from Wilson's side and watched the younger man undress, smirking when he noticed the blush cross his lover's face.

The first thing he noticed, with a frown, was that Wilson didn't seem to want to stand for too long. Instead of undressing while standing up, which is definitely much easier, he sat down on the bed to take off his socks (why the man always had to wear socks around the house was beyond the diagnostician!) then his pants.

House was distracted by his pleasurable and diagnostic watching by a flash of color on normally pale skin. After he pulled his chair forward, House pulled his friend's left leg gently onto his lap. With furrowed brows and gentle hands he inspected his friend's bruised and slightly swollen foot, "What happened?" He asked not caring that he let his concern show.

"I dropped the cutting board and it landed on my foot." Wilson explained wincing as his friend palpitated the bruise. He took off his sweater and placed it on the floor next to his pants.

"Why didn't you say anything? You could have had ice on this while we were watching TV." House asked knowing that the foot had to hurt. He looked up and soon found himself distracted from his concerned rant by a deep purpling bruise on Wilson's forearm. "When did that happen?" He asked accusingly pointing at the forearm. Wilson blushed but didn't answer, involuntarily telling the truth without saying a word. House felt anger surge through him, "My father did that?" He asked barely able to keep his voice above a growl. He knew the question should have come out incredulous but deep in the back of his mind, House had already guessed that so it came out sounding more like a statement than a question. Quickly his mind put things together and came up with an image, "Was the cutting board in your hand when he grabbed you?"

Wilson gave a small nod. He really didn't want to tell House – the man already didn't have the greatest relationship with his father and he didn't want to become another excuse for the two of them to shift further apart. "I'm sorry." He apologized, once again wondering why in the heck HE was the one apologizing.

"Don't." House objected with a raised, shaking hand. "Don't apologize. This wasn't your doing. I never should have left you alone with him." The diagnostician was furious with himself. He knew something like this would happen! Sure, he himself had done far worse things to Wilson but they'd worked through it and he'd gotten help. His father hurting his friend was a very different matter. He had no right and no pathetic excuse other than that's how he was. House had grown up with his father and knew what he was like around homosexuals. Why he thought it was a good idea to blatantly show his father that his son was one then leave the same homophobic father in a room with his lover was a good idea was beyond him!

"Stop," Wilson said softly, grabbing one of the shaking hands. He knew exactly what his friend was thinking right now and it wasn't necessary. "Stop blaming yourself. Minus a couple of bruises, I'm fine."

House returned his attention back to the injured foot making sure to hurt his friend as little as possible during his examination. "I don't think this is a simple bruise." He informed applying pressure to where the bruise seemed to be worse.

Wilson gasped and reflexively jerked away but House stilled the leg by holding on to Wilson's ankle. "Sorry," he apologized while looking into the beautiful yet pain filled brown eyes to let his friend know that he meant it. "Either you've bruised the bone, which I think is more than likely, or there's a fracture. We should get you to the hospital for an X-Ray to find out which."

Wilson scrubbed his hands over his face. He was extremely tired for the day's labor and really didn't feel like going anywhere. "If you think it's just a bruised bone then that's what I'm going with. I'll just try to stay off it as much as possible."

House offered a curt nod before standing up and placing Wilson's leg on the now vacated chair. He wasn't happy with his friend's decision but he understood it. Exhaustion rolled off Wilson like a ball rolling over a floor, bouncing into House with playful yet firm force.

When he returned it was to find Wilson lying on the bed with his eyes closed and his left hand rubbing his hip. House doubted that that's what was really hurting but he understood the need to physically do something when there was nothing that could be done. He was mad that his friend had been put in such pain by House's own father but he pushed it aside and focused on trying to help the younger man feel better.

Quickly, he stepped out into the hall closet and grabbed a spare pillow, grateful that Wilson hadn't packed those yet. He went back into the room and climbed onto his side of the bed, his back resting against the foot board as he placed the pillow below Wilson's left food and placed a towel wrapped bag of frozen peas on top. It was awkward considering Wilson's right leg was in the way but House managed with little difficulty and was even pleased to be able to watch the taught lines around the oncologist's eyes and mouth release.

Pleased that he was able to help ease some of Wilson's pain, House got off the bed and changed into pajama pants. He took his evening Ibuprofen then grabbed a blanket from the hallway closet then climbed onto bed, throwing the blanket over himself and his lover who, while relaxed, wasn't asleep yet.

Wilson cracked an eye open, watching House carefully as the scruffy doctor curled himself around the oncologist almost protectively. "Thanks." He offered, using his right hand to rub gentle, soothing circles on House's back.

Instead of saying, _I'm sorry it was necessary,_ like his mind was screaming at him to, House pulled back slightly and gave Wilson a good night kiss before re-settling himself around the younger man. Just before he fell asleep, the right words to say came to him. He mumbled, "I love you." Then closed his eyes and allowed the steady beating of Wilson's heart to lull him into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

They boys sat on House's couch Friday evening enjoying a cold soda while watching Emeril Live per Wilson's request. House had grumbled about Wilson's choice but in all honesty, he didn't mind watching the show – he enjoyed laughing at the guy.

It was the night before the move and the only things that weren't packed were the TV, Cable box and bed linens. They'd ordered take out since their dishes and pantry goods were already packed and in truth neither of them felt like cooking.

House sat on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table while Wilson lay on his side, curled up against the diagnostician's side with his foot on a throw pillow and a toweled bag of frozen peas on top.

As it turned out, it was harder to keep Wilson off his feet than House had originally thought and today was only the first day. He inwardly groaned when he realized jut how hard tomorrow was going to be. Thankfully they'd hired movers but Wilson was an OCD Micromanager so trying to keep him sitting while instructing the movers where to put everything was going to be a chore House didn't know if he was up for.

Getting Wilson to the hospital this morning for work had been difficult. Wilson could barely put weight on his foot but House didn't have an extra cane or crutches to help so he'd been left with trying anyways. House had managed to talk the oncologist into staying in the car while he went and grabbed some crutches but barely.

Unfortunately while on his way to get said crutches, House had run into Cuddy and was bombarded by several accusing questions. He understood her suspicion and it was only his telling her that this was his father's fault then actually allowing her to see the anger he felt at the whole thing that she finally relented, allowing him to get the instruments to a very anxious Wilson.

Both Cuddy and House had insisted that Wilson allow them to perform an X-Ray and MRI to make sure that House's diagnosis was in fact correct and that it was just a badly bruised bone. The tests had taken no more than an hour but being kept from doing his job had done nothing but annoyed the injured man leading to him shutting himself in his office for the rest of the day, emerging only to do whatever patient rounds that wouldn't allow his assistant to do.

Normally Wilson liked doing the patient rounds. Often it was his favorite part of the day except on busy days. While the days were often busy, Wilson tried to make sure he saw all of his patients that were currently in-hospital. On the days when he couldn't, the oncologist was grateful that he could count on Sascha to cover for him. She'd developed a working relationship with many of them so they didn't mind seeing her on occasions however there were a few that would only see Wilson. Of course, they'd felt bad that they made the pained man come down to see them once they'd actually saw the oncologist but he'd managed to brush off their concern and focus on his patient's needs with practiced ease.

By the end of the day Wilson was exhausted from the extra exercise of crutching himself around the hospital and keeping his temper, which had grown the more the day had stretched on, in check. His foot throbbed in angry annoyance and his arm wasn't too happy about being used as much as it had been either.

When he and House arrived at home, Wilson collapsed on the couch sprawling out over it until his friend grumbled for him to sit up so he could join. Before House joined him however, he grabbed the frozen peas then the throw pillow that was on the couch to carefully place them over and under Wilson's foot. With the exception of getting up to get dinner and the soda, neither House nor Wilson had moved since.

The phone rang, interrupting one of Emeril's well-known 'Bam's. House grabbed his cell phone, which lay on the armchair of the couch, then checked the caller ID before answering, "Hi Mom."

Wilson's ears perked up in curiosity but he tried to act like his attention was still focused on the TV. He wondered why House's mother was calling so soon seeing as they had lonely left yesterday. The oncologist resigned himself to not finding out unless his friend wanted him to know.

House was just as interested by the phone call as Wilson was but, whereas Wilson's curiosity was out of sheer inquisitiveness, House's was wary of the true reason. His mother had never been one to call this much knowing her son wasn't that desperate to speak to her so when she called after only departing House's company twenty-four hours before, the diagnostician was on full alert.

"Hi Greg." Blythe greeted her son cheerily. "How's James?"

House's head cocked to the right slightly, "He's fine." _Why? _He asked silently.

"Really? I thought I noticed him limping yesterday evening." Blythe answered in a 'Really, are you sure?' kind of voice.

_Shit!_ House didn't know how to respond to that. His mother was a human lie detector and could sniff out a lie from hundreds, maybe even thousands of miles away when it came to her son. He knew he couldn't lie to her but he really didn't want to tell her the truth unless she already knew.

"I had an interesting conversation with your father last night," she prompted, her voice becoming tight and restrained when she said 'interesting'.

"Okay," House started waiting for her to finish.

"He told me about the conversation he'd had with James and given how tight-lipped you're being you know what I'm talking about." She informed.

"It wasn't a conversation, it was a threat." House growled, surprising both his mother and Wilson with how angry he sounded.

Though she knew he couldn't see it, Blythe nodded. It was one of the few things Gregory had gotten from her – the compulsory urge to nod rather than acknowledge something. "Yes, I'm sorry about that. I would have asked him to help me rather than you if I'd known."

"No you wouldn't." House answered with out maliciousness, "You were trying to get Dad and I away from each other like normal. You didn't know what he'd do when we left." _But I did _– a voice in his head supplied.

Blythe heard the unsaid comment crystal clear and her heart ached for her son. She knew that John wasn't exactly the easiest man to get along with, especially if you were his son and growing up with him, but she didn't know exactly what all went on in her home. Sometimes she wasn't sure if she wanted to know. "Is James alright?" She asked again knowing that a change in subject was in order.

House paused before he answered. Though it hadn't come through the phone at all, he could hear the pleading tone in her question almost begging him to tell her that no damage had been done to his friend. Unfortunately, he couldn't do that. Sure there was no permanent damage done to Wilson but there was still damage. House wasn't foolish enough to consider pain and job hindrances nothing not to mention the potential harm it could have had on Wilson's psyche or the still precarious trust they were building together.

"He'll be fine. Four weeks on crutches and he'll be good as new." House quipped trying to keep his tone light.

Wilson's attention was automatically drawn from the TV by House's admission. Sure the statement had made it sound like he really was fine but Wilson knew that if he could hear the tone of concern and anger in his friend's voice, Blythe certainly could too. He continued listening, this time not bothering to hide that he was eavesdropping. House shifted the phone to his other ear to make listening in easier on Wilson.

"Four weeks? But I thought John had twisted his arm, why does James need crutches and won't they be hard on his arm?" Blythe questioned, concerned. Obviously her husband didn't tell her everything which she will be having a conversation with him about when she's done.

"Apparently Dad left out the part where Wilson had been holding on to a very heavy marble cutting board at the time which landed hard on his foot." House snarked into the phone while growing steadily more angry at his mother's naïveté and his father altogether.

Blythe gasped in surprise and her cheeks blushed crimson with shame and anger. "Is he alright?" She asked again, reminding herself of a broken record.

"He bruised the cuneiform and metatarsal bones in his foot pretty badly but otherwise yes." House answered, slowly starting to squirm with the directness of this conversation. His mother already knew more than any of his team did and the pair considered them family more than their own parents.

"I'm so sorry Greg. Please tell James that too." She requested as a mixture of emotions toyed with her heart like a cat with a mouse.

She felt sympathy and pity for James Wilson – he didn't deserve the pain he was in and it was her husband's (and essentially hers as well) fault. She was angry at her husband for trying so damn hard to break something up when it was so obviously good for her son. She was even angrier at him for merely using words on Gregory while he actually used force on his boyfriend. Not that she wants him to use force on another human being but if he's going to do it she's sure that Gregory would prefer it be used on him rather than his friend.

"How's his arm?" She asked praying that John hadn't done any more damage.

"Just bruised, it'll be fine in a couple more days." House answered lightly.

While he wasn't comfortable with the entire conversation either Wilson put a soothing hand on his friend's thigh and lightly massaged it, hoping to provide a sense of support. He was shocked that Blythe was calling about THIS of all things. He could hear the worry, concern and sympathy in her voice and it made his stomach churn acidly.

Not only did he not want it, some small, beaten voice in his head whispered that he didn't deserve it. The voice that had slowly grown stronger and silenced the other voice quickly argued that while, logically, it may be not be true that he didn't deserve it he certainly didn't need it. Sure he didn't deserve John House's aggression towards him just because he was with the man's son but he wasn't about to whimper, complain or hide because he got it either.

"Well, that's good at least." Blythe answered sounding genuinely relieved. "Anyways, I just wanted to call and check on James. I'll leave you two alone. I have a conversation to have with your father anyways."

House visibly shivered at the icy tone in his mother's voice. In all honesty he was impressed that his mother was starting to grow a backbone and his heart swelled with pride when he realized that it was because of what his father had done to Wilson.

While his father had never physically left a mark on House while he was growing up, the diagnostician was very familiar with his brand of punishment and it wasn't something that Child Services would approve of let alone a mother. Yet his mother had always turned a blind eye, pretending that everything in her home was fine and picture perfect.

It saddened him a little to realize that the feeling of, one can only assume, protectiveness that his mother was currently feeling hadn't been inspired or felt for her son but her son's friend. True, it was hard NOT to feel protective of Wilson once you met him and it was hard TO feel protective of House but still, somewhere in him a voice whispered that it should have been felt before he grew up.

"Good bye mom." House told her while he relaxed a little under Wilson's expert hands.

"Good night Gregory and tell James that I'm so sorry and Happy Thanksgiving." She responded politely yet genuinely before hanging up.

"Well, that was interesting." House commented knowing that Wilson had heard the entire thing.

"Yeah," Wilson conceded with a shrug. He really didn't know what to make of the whole thing so he expertly changed the subject. "We should go to bed. The movers are coming early tomorrow."

Stiffly Wilson sat up on the couch, his middle-aged body reminding him to start gently stretching before expecting it to make sudden moves, and removed the now lightly chilled bag of peas from his foot. The swelling had gone down and it was numb but Wilson knew it wouldn't last. Unfortunately for anybody who has had one, bone bruises took awhile to heal and were quite painful.

"How's your foot?" House asked with a nod in that direction.

"It's fine." Wilson answered as he stood up and limped off into the kitchen carrying the bag of peas in one hand and some of the empty take-out containers in the other.

House scoffed, "In other words, it hurts but since it's numb it feels fine for right now." He cast a glance toward his friend who was now making his way back into the living room. "You're supposed to be using crutches." He scolded.

"I know but I couldn't very well clean up and crutch around at the same time now could I?" Wilson asked a little petulantly.

"You aren't going to be cleaning up. Sit down while I do it." House commanded as he gently pulled Wilson back down onto the couch. Okay, so he actually landed on House's lap and amazingly managed to avoid putting pressure on the older man's ruined thigh but that's exactly where House wanted him.

The diagnostician leaned down giving his lover a deep, breathtaking kiss. Wilson managed to lean into it even more, still keeping weight of House's thigh, and opened his mouth to give the scruffy doctor's tongue access.

They played tongue wrestling for awhile but both men eventually needed to breathe which ended the session. House slid out from under the oncologist and continued what Wilson started with cleaning up.

Once the take out containers were in the trash, the soda cans in the recycling and the coffee table cleaned, the boys went to bed trying to prepare themselves for the busy day they had ahead of them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Oh my gosh! I can't believe I forgot to add Chapter 4! Sorry about that folks! Here it is.**

* * *

**Chapter 4:**

At eight am the movers came. Since he was not only a morning person but already awake, Wilson let them in while House actually got up and dressed.

Wilson did his best not to micromanage the movers while they were moving things out of House's apartment but it's hard to deny one's nature, so he settled for watching them like a hawk to make sure they were treating each item like it was fragile. He wasn't all that surprised when he discovered that they were. House had done the hiring of the moving company and he wouldn't trust his belongings to just anyone, especially not his guitars and piano.

For the most part the men tried to stay out of the way of the movers, which was both hard and uncomfortable since they'd taken the bigger items like the couch and the bed first then piled the boxes on or around them.

Once the truck was loaded and ready, House and Wilson climbed into their own cars then drove to the loft. It was in a new neighborhood, which Wilson found exciting, but it was also still close to the hospital. It was one story with a joint living room, dining room and kitchen but big enough that you could easily make out the difference. The master bedroom was almost the size of the living room allowing for a bedroom set and maybe an armchair or two as well. The master bath had a Jacuzzi tub big enough for the both of them, a separate shower and double sinks. The walk-in closet was off to the left with more than enough room for their wardrobes.

The spare bedroom or office, they hadn't decided yet, was about one quarter smaller than the master, leaving plenty of room for both a desk and a bed if they wanted to. House had argued that they didn't need an office because both them actually have one at the hospital but Wilson argued that it would be good for HIM to have one at home because he does bring his work home a lot. The diagnostician had grumbled about how much he didn't like it when Wilson brought his work home but he eventually gave in to the idea.

The kitchen was spacious yet close. It was rectangular with the stove and half the counter space against the wall facing out to the rest of the room with an island with a sink and the rest of the counter space separating the kitchen from everything else. To the right was a French-door refrigerator with a pull out drawer for the freezer on the bottom. Flanking both sides of the fridge was cabinet space for things like pots and pans. There was a separate room off to the right of the fridge wall that would easily house a pantry plus a washer and dryer.

On the opposite side of the room was a fireplace with French-doors flanking it for the balcony that wrapped almost all the way around the living room. While they highly doubted they'd use it, with the exception of growing some fresh veggies, it was nice to have all the same.

When they arrived, House growled at the men to unload the couch and coffee table first so he could sit down while they unload everything else. While it was true that he just wanted to sit down and rest his leg while they unloaded, the diagnostician also wanted Wilson to sit down and get off his feet. The oncologist has been up and moving for over five hours, he'd gotten up at six-thirty like usual, and House knew he was hurting. He also knew that though Wilson was hurting, he wouldn't be able to rest until everything was done and settled which included unpacking everything.

Wilson crutched around the loft telling the movers where to put all the boxes and furniture, trusting House to tell them how to organize said furniture in the living room while he took care of everything else. He wanted nothing more than to sit down and ice his painfully throbbing foot but that could wait until the movers left.

All the boxes lingering around the loft would drive him crazy but Wilson guessed that unpacking could wait until after a well deserved break and lunch which he'd try to rope House into helping as well. He didn't think it would be easy but considering they didn't have cable yet, Wilson was hoping that the scruffy doctor would be bored enough to at least micromanage while the oncologist did all the actual work.

By noon the men left. Wilson had paid them then, leaving a generous tip to thank them for putting up with House's bad moods and his tediousness along with their gentleness when handling their belongings. When they left, Wilson crutched into the kitchen then made up a couple of sandwiches with two glasses of water. It wasn't gourmet and it wasn't much but at least it was something.

The boys now sat on the couch with their legs resting on the coffee table, munching on their sandwiches and mentally trying to decide how to organize things. They'd already decided to allow Wilson to organize the kitchen since he was the one who would be using it most but the rest was left up to House since he was, surprisingly enough, more picky about where things went than his friend.

Wilson had already unpacked and organized half the kitchen just looking for the utensils to make the sandwiches to it didn't take him long to finish after they'd eaten. House had already had the movers organize the living room so that just left the boxes in the open room along with the two bedrooms.

They started unpacking boxes in the living room with each of them putting things away though House did his best to keep Wilson as stationary as possible. Wilson, however, had argued that they were both hurting (which House couldn't argue with) and the soon they'd finished the sooner they could both relax.

Thanks to Wilson's OCD tendencies with packing, they had the living room unpacked and the boxes torn down then discarded within an hour. Both of them wanted this process to be over with as soon as possible so they were hurrying through it yet making sure that things were how they wanted them at the same time.

The master bedroom came next, allowing at least one of them to be constantly on the bed. Wilson took care of organizing the closet while House did the actual bedroom. The bathroom they'd just decided on which of the two sinks were theirs then tossed their stuff there to wait until they actually needed to get around to it.

At seven pm House and Wilson sat on the couch with a movie in the DVD player, Chinese take-out in their laps, and sodas on the coffee table before them. House sat with his legs outstretched on the coffee table, rubbing just above his painfully searing thigh which had a heating pad wrapped around it. He'd just taken a couple of Ibuprofen so he waited for them in addition to the heating pad to take affect. Wilson sat on the other side of the couch, watching his friend with concern while he rubbed his own aching leg.

With the exception of sometimes limping around, Wilson hadn't really been on it all day. However the constant need to keep his foot off the floor taxed his aching hip which left it throbbing angrily, sending hot, sharp pain down his thigh. Over the course of the day, his foot had become swollen. Not a lot but enough so that it throbbed mercilessly with warm, stabbing pain.

Once they'd finished dinner, Wilson gathered up the trash then one-armed crutched his way to the kitchen. He wouldn't have used the crutches at all but his leg had been yelling at him for the few times he'd used it today so he wasn't sure it would hold his weight right now.

Before heading back to the living room he grabbed a couple of towels and two bags of frozen peas. He placed one over his hip and the other over his foot which now rested on top of a throw pillow on the coffee table. Wilson looked to his right to happily find House more relaxed with his hand now resting on top the arm of the couch.

Neither man moved for the rest of the night until it was time to go to bed. Once the movie stopped they sat staring at the blank TV just allowing their minds to empty like water trickling out of a bucket and wandering on the floor.

Around ten they managed to sleepily drag themselves to bed, not bothering to do more than change and fall into bed before they fell into the sleep born of exhaustion.

* * *

Jacob and Rebecca Wilson were very correct people, Jacob more so than Rebecca but both couldn't stand sin, especially from their sons. Their view on proper punishment was on of the few things that they conflicted about. Jacob could be very harsh, borderline abusive, depending on what the sin was. Rebecca on the other hand would never lay a finger on her sons unless it was truly deserved, mostly grounding the guilty one or making him do more chores. Another thing they didn't meet eye to eye on was the severity of each sin. While they saw sin as unacceptable, they were aware that there were different levels. According to Rebecca, stealing was worse than lying whereas Jacob thought that lying was worse than stealing.

But today there were no little boys that needed punishing. Today they were coming to Princeton to visit their eldest son.

As they walked through the doors of PPTH on a chilly December day, they couldn't help but beam with pride at their son's hospital. Ever since James had become a doctor, he had always made them proud.

They walked up to the reception desk and asked if James was in. The nurse nodded and when he offered to show them to Dr. Wilson's office, Jacob politely declined. They knew the way to James' office. Taking the elevator up to the fourth floor, they stood in comfortable silence.

This was the first time in a while since they had seen James and Rebecca was particularly please that they had arranged to spend New Year's with him. Being a doctor, and head of a department at that, James was often very bus and never had enough time to visit them.

Excitedly, they excited the elevator. Turning to their left, they strode to the door that said "James Wilson MD" on it and opened it. The scene they barged in on was one they had never, in their life, expected to see.

James sat on his desk, his lips pressed against his friend Gregory House's while Greg's arms encircled James, hugging him close. James' legs were wrapped around Greg's waist, locked just below the man's butt.

"James, what is the meaning of this?" Jacob bellowed.

Wilson froze in both mind and body. "M-mom, D-dad?" he stuttered.

"James?" His mother breathed in horror, hoping, _praying,_ that this was a mistake.

Wilson moved hastily away from House, almost as if the man had the plague. Terror and panic welded up in his chest along with the suffocating sense of the walls closing in. _No, no, no, no!_ _This can't be happening! They're not supposed to be here yet! _Wilson's thoughts raced. The memory of being thrashed with his father's belt exploded before his vision.

"_What did I tell you, boy?"_

"_That it's sinful to like other boys." _

"James." Jacob Wilson's stern and angry voice lanced through his thoughts. And just like that, the memory was gone. He was no longer James looking up at his father with tears in his eyes and bruises on his body. Furious brown eyes fixed themselves on frightened ones of the same color.

"_You're not that little child anymore, Dr. Wilson. You can stand up for yourself now. You can give yourself a chance to be happy." _

The sweet, soft words of Dr. Raymond filtered through his head. She was right. He wasn't that kid anymore.

With more courage than he had ever shown to his father, he straightened himself and went to grab House's hand. Looking his dad squarely in the eyes, he announced, "Dad, Mom, House and I are dating."

And just like that, the pin dropped. Rage and disgust stuffed every crack and crevice in Jacob's face. He thought he had fixed this problem. Apparently he hadn't beaten that filthy demon out of his son all of those years ago.

House watched in pure amazement at Wilson's announcement. He had just admitted to loving another man to the two people he was most afraid of when it came to his homosexuality. Maybe that Dr. Raymond was better than House originally thought.

Slowly, Jacob strode up to his son. He had the urge to beat the demon before him, but he would never do that to his wife. It would break her heart more than it already was. "You disappoint me, boy. I thought I had fixed you. Apparently, I was wrong. As God is my witness, you are no son of mine."

He turned and left.

"Dad, wait!" Wilson called after the retreating man. He hastily went to the door where his mom was still standing. With grey, tear filled eyes, she looked on him as if he was dead. "Mom, please-," he started but was cut off when a hand came out and struck his left check.

Stunned, Wilson stared at Rebecca's grief stricken face. "You monster," she sobbed, "You killed my boy."

With that, she fled the room.

Wilson stood in the doorway to his office, stunned frozen with a hand resting on his face, covering the red handprint that now covered the left side. A triumphant part of him recognized that he got off easy and at least he had been honest with them but the little boy inside of him screamed, _"Dad, Mom, come back!"_

A soft hand covered his left shoulder then squeezed. The tears that he had been so desperately trying to keep from coming fell, leaking out of his eyes like water over a dam. Immediately he was pulled into a warm, comforting hug while his office door was closed then locked. House guided him to the couch where they sat and Wilson curled into his lover, taking refuge in the safety of his friend.

House held on to Wilson tightly, allowing the oncologist to release the tears of pain that the whole situation had caused. He was very proud of his friend for standing up to his parents though he must have known that there would be similar consequences. Wilson probably thought that there'd be a beating involved later when House wasn't around; the diagnostician didn't think the younger man had anticipated being disowned.

Wilson had been crying softly for twenty minutes when there was a knock on the door; one that House immediately recognized as Cuddy. Gently, he disentangled himself from Wilson and limped to the door.

Cuddy stood with her arms crossed and annoyance in her eyes, "I just received a complaint from a patient saying that she and her husband had walked in on her doctor making out with another man. You can guess how not surprised I was when she said that her doctor's name was James Wilson."

House rolled his angry eyes, "That wasn't a patient."

"How do you know? Do you know every single patient of Wilson's?" She argued as her annoyance grew into anger. "You two need to keep things professional when you're on hospital grounds, you know that. Now, I'm going to have to write this up in your files and…" she trailed off while she tried to think of something that would punish them but not leave her with a ton of work, "I don't know what else but I'll think of something." She warned.

House sneered at her threat which only made her angrier. Then something seemed to connect in her mind, "Why are you answering the door?" She asked.

The diagnostician rolled his eyes at how long it had taken her to notice. He stepped into the office, gently closing the door behind him. He could still hear Wilson's soft crying and didn't want him to hear all of this. It would just drive the steak of hurt further into his heart.

"The patient who came up to you was actually Wilson's mother and her husband had been his father. They came, found us together and yelled. Wilson announced his relationship to them and his father disowned him then left. He went to follow but his mother stopped him, slapped him then called him a monster before she followed her husband." House summarized, "Still want to punish him?"

Cuddy stood in the hall with her mouth agape. She studied House for a moment, trying to decide if what he was saying was really the truth. She wouldn't put it passed him to come up with a complete lie in order to get out of whatever punishment she deemed necessary but then something clicked. He'd said "him" not "us" which meant that he didn't care what happened to himself, he didn't think Wilson deserved punishment though.

After what seemed like ten minutes of thought which was actually closer to two she looked back up at House's face, the sadness and anger in his blue eyes catching her off guard. He was pissed at Wilson's parents for doing this to his friend, that much was obvious, but it also seemed that it hurt him to know that Wilson was hurting. That more than anything melted her angry disposition. "Is he alright?" She asked with a note of resigned weariness in her voice.

"No," House answered succinctly. His right hand flexed and clenched angrily on his cane, showing the whites of his knuckles each time. He bent around to look in the window to the left (or his right) of the door to check on his friend. Wilson appeared to be asleep while clutching the one and only pillow on the couch. He lay curled up in a protective ball while the shuttering of his body was the only clue that he was still crying.

Cuddy checked her watch, "Take him home, he doesn't need to be here. I'll cover both of your clinic hours."

"Thanks." House said, giving her a minute nod of the head before he re-entered Wilson's office.

As it turned out, Wilson was no longer crying just shivering violently. House guessed it was a combination of shock from the events and exhaustion from crying. He climbed back under his friend and held him close, offering warmth and protection. "I'm so sorry James," he whispered as he felt Wilson relax under his touch and the shivering slowly fade.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

Wilson walked into the loft in a numbed daze. He'd cried himself into exhaustion at the hospital while curled up in House's arms. He was surprised the diagnostician actually held him and let him cry, emotions weren't House's strong suit after all.

House led his friend to their bedroom with a steady hand. Once there, Wilson climbed into the bed and under the covers not caring that he was fully dressed. Tucking the blankets in around the broken man, House sat on the edge of the bed.

"She called me a monster," a soft, wavering whisper floated up to meet the diagnostician's ears.

At a loss of what else to say, House simply stated, "She's wrong." He hoped that it was enough. He knew that Wilson was a lot closer to his mother than his father. Go figure. This whole being disowned thing was tearing his friend apart. The worst part about it was that he had no clue how Wilson felt. Maybe he should talk to Nolan about this, ask for some advice. Even though he hated to admit it, even to himself, the psychiatrist had helped in many aspects of his life.

With that thought, he patted the shoulder of the exhausted man besides him. "Get some sleep, Wilson."

Wilson listened to the uneven footsteps of his boyfriend as he limped out of the room. The click of the door being closed let the oncologist know that he was alone.

While he was drained of any energy he might have had waking up this morning, his mind wouldn't shut down. The recollection of the scene that had taken place earlier today replayed over and over before his eyes. The look of disgust and rage that radiated from his father's deep brown eyes, the disappointed tone in his flat voice, the tears that pooled around his mother's saddened gray irises, and the sharp sting of her hand on his cheek all melded together to create a feeling of despair and grief.

"_You monster. You killed my son."_

Those anguished words spoken by his mother, ricocheted around in his head. They would fly away to make room for whatever other thoughts pressed at the foremost in his mind, but they would always bounce back to remind him, to haunt him. Only, unlike an echo, it never died. It kept coming back.

According to his parents, he was dead.

"_You monster. You killed my son."_

"_She's wrong."_

Just like that. _Just like that_, that one sentence that House spoke burst forth from the depth of angst and sorrow. Wrong? Could the diagnostician be right? Could his mom be wrong? Then Wilson realized that it didn't really matter. _It didn't really matter._

According to his parents, he was dead. But according to House…he was still alive. According to House, he was still worth having around.

He loved his mom and dad. They raised him and clothed him. They loved him, maybe not anymore, but they did once and that's all that mattered. Not what they thought or said in his office three hours ago. Their love mattered then, when he was a growing boy, because he had needed it. But now…now he had House. The love they shared for each other was what mattered now.

Affection and happiness swelled in his heart when he came to this realization. Whatever happened to his in the past didn't matter. What was happening in the present did. He was still upset about being abandoned, but the future didn't look as bad as it did anymore.

Closing his eyes, he smiled softly when a voice that sounded suspiciously like House's, groaned in his head. _"God, you're sappy."_

Sleep came up to engulf him in warmth and comfort.

House walked into the bedroom a few hours later to check up on his lover, only to find the man softly snoring in a deep, peaceful slumber. Relief washed over him as his wish had been granted. Wilson was getting some much needed sleep.

Careful not to disturb the younger doctor, House changed into his pajamas and slid under the covers of his side of the bed. The movement must've awoken Wilson, because the next thing he saw was a pair of groggy, brown eyes watching him.

"Hey, did I wake you?" House asked.

"S'fine," Wilson slurred sleepily.

House nodded, the motion causing a swishing noise as his head rubbed against his pillow. He studied the expressive face before him and saw a calm that wasn't there before. "How are you doing?" he asked.

"Do you love me?"

The question caught House off guard, but he answered with only a split second pause. "Yes."

"Then I'll be okay."

House couldn't help the smallest of smiles that graced his lips. Wilson was a lot stronger than most people give him credit for. While he'd been watching TV, trying to drown his problems in soda cans, Wilson had found some kind of solace alone in their bedroom. Maybe he wouldn't need to call Nolan after all.

* * *

Weeks passed and neither heard from Jacob or Rebecca Wilson. Wilson did, however, get a call from his brother, Joseph, saying that it he didn't share their parent's feelings and congratulated him for finding happiness. That brought much needed joy and relief to the eldest Wilson boy's heart.

Things went back to normal quickly. Cuddy ended up punishing them both anyway for making out in the hospital with loads of clinic duty. Something House complained rather loudly about, saying that Wilson had started it. The Dean merely countered saying it was his fault that he went along with it.

Huffing and puffing, ready to plow the Dean down, House retreated to his office and made one of his fellows do his clinic hours. Wilson simply watched in mild amusement and took his punishment without question.

About a month after the incident with his parents, Wilson began to show signs of a severe cold. Every time he would sneeze or cough, House would wrinkle his nose and whine about having to sleep with him.

Tossing his gray and red ball up in the air, House's thoughts were currently fixated on his newest patient whose name he didn't even bother to recall. They had just received the case this morning and the ducklings were performing tests down in the lab. This meant that he had nothing to do yet except ponder the symptoms which sounded boring to him at the moment. So, with nothing better to do, he set his ball down and stood up. A visit to his favorite oncologist was in due order.

Making his way to the man's office, he wondered if Wilson was busy. Then again, when did that ever stop him?

Wilson started when the door suddenly whooshed open and slammed shut. An artificial breeze formed from the violent motion causing his bangs to stir slightly around his forehead. When he saw who it was that had disturbed him, he turned back to his paperwork. "What do you want, House?"

"The jealous boyfriend has come to ward off all pretty nurses bearing Kleenex," was House's reply.

Wilson snorted at House's subtle way of marking his territory. A dull, twinge of pain flared up just below his belly button. Subconsciously, he moved a hand to rub it. It had been acting up for a while now, but he fingered it was due to the end of one of House's Foosball rod jabbing him in the gut two days ago.

House's quick, detail oriented eyes caught the movement but didn't say anything. An unfortunate game of Foosball came to mind making him mentally wince in sympathy. That was two days ago, if Wilson was still feeling it now then it must have been harder than he initially thought.

His mind immediately dropped the issue when his stomach voiced its own concern. "I'm hungry. Let's eat."

"No thanks. I'm rather busy," Wilson declined and while that was true, it wasn't the main reason. During House's mind wandering moment, Wilson's own stomach was voicing its own concern. Nausea had settled itself in the pit of his stomach and even the thought of food made it do jumping-jacks.

"You're sick," House stated, "Which means you're only doing paperwork because you don't want to compromise your immunocompromised patients, which means you have all the time in the world because you're always on top of everything, which means you're not as busy as you say you are, which _means_ that there's some other reason for you declining a chance to eat lunch with me." He threw a triumphant look over the desk at Wilson when the younger man signed in resignation.

"Fine. I'm just feeling a bit nauseous and don't want to eat," Wilson stated a little annoyed.

"Colds don't cause nausea," House muttered as the wheels in his brain started working. He rounded the desk to stand next to his friend.

"House, what are you doing?" Wilson protested the sudden appearance of a hand on his forehead.

"You're running a slight fever," House commented, his mind a million miles away. What caused cold-like symptoms along with nausea?

"Colds can cause low-grade fevers," Wilson pointed out.

"Yes, but not nausea," House argued.

Sighing heavily, Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. "This isn't some medical mystery, House. It's just a _cold_. The nausea is probably from the fact that I'm exhausted since I didn't get much sleep last night."

That was true. House remembered being kept up half the night by Wilson's coughing. Colds were also known for causing fatigue. Maybe Wilson _was_ fine as far as serious illnesses go.

After reassuring the diagnostician that he was fine and bidding him a happy lunch, Wilson went back to work giving no thought to the pain in his abdomen. After all, it was just a bruise from the Foosball rod. No need to worry.

As he went about his day, Wilson noticed that the pain in his gut was slowly increasing as time carried on. Another thing he noted was that the nausea wasn't going away. In fact, it only worsened. By the end of the day, the queasiness was rolling around in his stomach like a stormy sea.

This, of course, House noticed.

"Are you still feeling sick?" the older doctor asked as they walked out to their car.

Wilson gave him an odd look and pointedly blew his nose. "No, my nose normally drips snot and I'm always coughing out my lungs. Stubborn organs, they don't seem to want to stay inside me."

"Who would blame them?" House retorted with the smallest hint of a smirk.

"I'll have you know that my organs were perfectly happy where they were until I caught this cold."

"Yeah, and _I_ was perfectly happy sharing a bed with you until you caught that cold."

They had just reached the car when a sudden bout of nausea hit Wilson square in the chest…well, gut. Unable to stop himself, he doubled over and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the pavement. Acid and bile left their usual nasty after-taste in his mouth. A firm hand came out of nowhere and grabbed his arm to steady him.

"Vomiting is not a symptom of the common cold," House's clinical voice floated down to where Wilson was still bent retching his guts out.

The sharp sting in Wilson's abdomen testified to that. When he was finished puking, he straightened himself while House still had a firm hold of his arm. "I don't think that this is a cold," he stated with an air of finality.

House nodded, "C'mon then. Let's get you checked out."

After putting their things in the car, they slowly headed back to the hospital. Every step brought the pain in Wilson's gut a notch higher on the scale until he was practically walking bent over like an old man. When they reached the entrance, House guided his friend to the closest unused exam room. Once there, he brought out his pager and summoned Chase.

"Take off your coat," he ordered. The pain seemed to have died down somewhat now that Wilson was sitting on the exam room table. Once the heavy winter coat was shed, House stuck a thermometer in Wilson's mouth.

It was then that Chase entered the room. "Is everything alright?" the Australian asked in concern when he saw Wilson sitting on the table.

"That's what we're going to find out. Go schedule Wilson for an X-Ray and a CT scan while I do an ultrasound," House commanded his fellow as he took the thermometer out and read Wilson's temperature; 101.5. It was a low-grade fever, but a fever none the less. The only problem was whether or not it was relevant. On one hand, these cold symptoms could be part of a bigger problem or on the other, Wilson could just have a cold _and_ something else that would nausea, vomiting, and abdominal pain.

A half an hour later found Wilson on his back with House standing over him, moving the ultrasound probe over his exposed mid-section. As he glided the probe across the smooth skin of his lover's body, sound waves were admitted into the flesh and a fuzzy, black and white picture of organs came to view. Everything in stomach area looked fine. As he moved the probe down, House's eyes were fixated on the screen when something caught his attention. He stole a quick glance at Wilson.

The younger man's nausea was acting up with relentless force. It was like having the Spanish Armanda attacking his stomach, only unlike the British, his stomach wasn't winning the war. He was so wrapped up in his discomfort that he missed the frown that had developed on House's face.

Switching off the ultrasound screen, House sat heavily down on a nearby stool.

"Well? Did you see anything?" Wilson asked.

There was silence in the room for a few seconds. Then House said, "I think you have appendicitis."

* * *

**AN: **Hey, this is all_things. I've never had appendicitis, so I don't know what it feels like and I don't pretend I do. So if the amount of pain or nausea that Wilson was feeling is incorrect, I'd like to apologize if that bothers you in any way.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

Wilson stared at House shocked into silence. Appendicitis was the last thing he had been expecting and given the expression on his friend's face it hadn't been something the diagnostician had been expecting either. He winced at his next question but felt it had to be asked, no matter how stupid it sounded, "Are you sure?"

House gave a sardonic smirk, "Yeah but we'll get the X-Ray and CT Scan done to confirm. Either way, you'll be here for overnight observation and a round of antibiotics."

Wilson closed his eyes and laid his head back. It wasn't a particularly comfortable position but it helped convey the exasperation he felt. A stabbing pain pierced his gut changing his expression from annoyance and frustration to hunching over in an effort to ease the sensation.

His left hand wrapped instinctively around his side while his right held the left arm. His breath caught in his throat with the unexpectedness of how sharp the pain was and his eyes scrunched together briefly.

House watched with a practiced nonchalance as pain grabbed a hold of his friend's appendix and squeezed. Inwardly his heart ached for Wilson. He hated seeing the younger man in pain. This situation was no exception but he was House after all and wasn't about to show just how much he loved his friend.

Just as the attack ended Chase entered the room with a wheelchair in tow. "They're ready for him." He announced still standing in the doorway.

House nodded and moved silently to Wilson's side, helping his friend off the exam table and into the chair. Wilson hissed as another attack encompassed his side but managed to stay relatively upright so that House was able to easily maneuver the pained man into the waiting wheelchair. Soon they were on their way to Radiology to confirm House's suspicion.

* * *

John House was a very proud mad. He hated it when people didn't do as he said because to him it was a sign of disrespect. When Greg had refused to do what John had ordered it had been the ultimate insult to the older House and that was besides the fact that his son was dating a _man._

Disgust churned in the pit of his stomach every time he remembered his son kissing James. He had to do something about this. That was why at this moment he was checking in at a hotel in Princeton. He was going to fix Greg if it was the last thing he did. He would _not_ allow disrespect coming from his son.

Blythe didn't know he was here in Princeton. It was better that she thought he was away on a hunting trip, the only hobby that made him feel like a man since retirement. He loved the feel of a gun in his hand. It made him feel powerful, like he could win a war all by himself. He missed that about the Military. The only thing he didn't miss was the killing. He had hated it and always will. Killing another man was one of the few things that John wasn't proud of. But hunting gave him the feel of power without the shame of killing. Slaughtering animals didn't count for murder.

But he wasn't hunting. He was here to correct his biggest failure. He had tried to raise his household with the order and discipline of the Marines but had obviously not succeeded. The fact that Greg was dating a man and had publicly disobeyed him was testament to that. John had thought he'd beaten the repulsive desire to touch another man out of Greg. He'd thought that his son was put on the right path. He'd thought that the younger House had accepted that men don't want other men.

He'd thought a lot of things, but he was done with thinking now. Now was the time to act.

* * *

The next day, House looked at the film before him. It was appendicitis, no doubt about that. Lowering the CT scan, he stared at his now sleeping friend. They had already put Wilson on antibiotics when they had gotten the result from the X-Ray. The CT scan just confirms what the other two procedures had told them.

After they had given Wilson the antibiotics and some pain medication, he was out like a light. House had watched the stress lines smooth from the younger man's face as his body relaxed. He had witnessed this sensation many times before and every time he wondered if Wilson knew how much younger he looked while sleeping. He wondered if his lover ever watched him while _he_ slept.

House sighed as he lowered his gaze to the film in his hand. This was a surprise indeed but at least they had caught the appendicitis early on. Surgery was the last thing Wilson needed, what with all of it he'd had endured after…after what House had done to him a year ago.

He mentally shook that thought from him. He would never forget those first few months of their relationship. How could he when he was reminded every time he caught a glance at Wilson's back? But this wasn't the time to dwell in his remorse.

Wilson would be asleep for several hours, so House decided to wait somewhere more comfortable: his office. Still clutching the CT scan, House limped heavily out of the room. His leg was acting up. He had popped a couple of prescription strength ibuprofen earlier, but it didn't do much to ease the ache. He imagined Wilson's strong fingers massaging his damaged thigh and the relief he always felt as the muscles relaxed. What he would give to have that relief now.

He had just entered the elevator when he heard Cuddy's voice call out to him. Next thing he knew, a slender hand had slipped through the closing doors and stopped his trek to Diagnostics. The lift doors banged and rattled as they complied with the wishes of the Dean of Medicine. Seconds later found House being joined on the elevator by a worried looking Lisa Cuddy.

"Is he alright?" she asked as the doors dinged and shut, signaling the lift's assent.

"I don't know," House replied with no little sarcasm, "I hear appendicitis is a nasty thing. Something to do with exploding organs and stuff…"

"He had appendicitis?" Cuddy asked in shock.

"That and a cold. He's been a busy bee," he quipped.

Cuddy gave him a look of irritation before it contorted into one of sympathy. "How's he doing?"

"He's fine. Fast asleep like the big baby he is, but don't let that fool you. He could give snoring lessons to Rip Van Winkle."

"Wilson snores?" the dean asked with the hint of a mischievous smirk. She was relieved that Wilson was alright. No one had told her anything specific, just that her Head of Oncology was booked for an X-Ray and a CT scan. But now that House had eased her concern, she could relax.

House gave her a small grin as he answered with, "Like a freight train."

The elevator doors opened in the mist of Cuddy's soft chuckles. "Well, I'm glad he's okay," she said while House got off, "I'll talk to his assistant and see to his appointments."

The doors closed and whisked the dean away. House limped down the hallway towards his office. Through the glass to the conference room, he caught Cameron's eye. He knew that look. _Oh, great,_ he inwardly groaned. He was very tempted to turn around and find a different place to wait, but the whole reason he was going to his office was because it was the most comfortable place in the hospital. Ignoring Cameron's steady gaze, he entered his office. He could deal with his over-caring fellow.

The afternoon sun shone through the windows, casting the glass cased room in a yellow tinted light. The warmth from the sun on his back as he sat down in his desk chair seemed to lull his tired body. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night, what with being distracted with Wilson and all. It was then that he realized that he was tired. Maybe he could catch a few winks on Wilson's couch. Before that thought could develop in his brain, the door to the common room opened to admit a worried Cameron.

She came to stand in front of his desk before asking the question he knew was coming.

"I heard Wilson was sick, is he okay?"

"Appendicitis. He's fine."

Cameron seemed relieved. "Is he awake? I was thinking about visiting him."

House rolled his eyes at that. "Oh, please. I would prefer if you didn't smother my boyfriend to death with your caring. He's got enough of it to last him two lifetimes."

"I just wanted to show him I care," Cameron said in vexation.

"Send him a card. He'll get the idea."

"I can go visit him if I want. You can't keep me from seeing him," Cameron pointed out with indigence.

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. See, Chase is his doctor and I'm Chase's boss so he has to do what I say."

With a sigh of frustration, the younger doctor left the room leaving House alone. Just the way he wanted it.

The next hour consisted of him twirling his cane, tossing his red and gray ball, and fiddling with anything within reach while his thoughts ran rampant throughout his head. Memories surfaced, ideas hatched, theories were created, all a common accordance when he was alone with his mind. A conversation he had had once with Nolan during rehab presented itself.

_Eleven months ago…_

"_Life consists of surprises."_

"_It took you a degree in psychiatry to figure that out?"_

"_Things occur that don't go the way we expected or even wanted. Bad things happen to good people, good things happen to bad people. It's not what happens to you that make you bad or good. It's how you react to the surprises of life. But then, nobody's perfect. You're never going to always do the right thing. Then how do you know when a person is good or bad? When one outweighs the other?"_

"_What? Now you're going to tell me I'm a good person?"_

"_Nobody can be completely good, just like nobody can be completely bad. There will always be a little of the other, the minority to the majority. They say that actions speak louder than words. That's true. They also speak louder than intentions. Bad people must be punished just like good people must also. Wrong is wrong no matter how much "right" it is wrapped in."_

"_Trust me; there was no amount of "right" in what I did."_

"_Indeed."_

"_That's it? You're not going to say that it was the drugs and not me?"_

"_You chose to take them."_

"_I don't need to sit here and listen to you tell me what I already know."_

"_You think that I'm here to tell you something you don't?"_

"_Well, yeah. You're supposed to help me 'find my inner feelings'"_

"_Do you love Dr. Wilson?"_

"…_yes."_

"_Do you want to get better?"_

"_Oh, geez. I checked myself in, for pet's sake! If that doesn't say 'I don't want to be an addict' then I don't know what does."_

"_Hmm."_

"_What?"_

"_So you want to get better."_

"_I can't be with Wilson if I'm not."_

"…"

"_What?"_

"_Good people see their own flaws and try to fix them."_

Present…

House was pulled from the past when the door to his office opened.

"Dad?" he asked in surprise when he saw who the other man was.

"Greg," John nodded as he came to stand in front of his son's desk, "We need to talk." He came here to fix his son. There was no point in beating around the bush.

The younger House snorted. "I seriously doubt you had talking in mind."

"You have to stop this nonsense right now, son."

"Okay so leave." The diagnostician answered pointing towards his office door with his cane. When his father gave him a confused look, House continued, "this," he gestured with his cane at both himself and his father, "is the nonsense you were talking about right?"

John House felt himself go red in the face. Normally he would have just blurted out whatever comment he'd wanted to say but he was determined to get through to his stubborn son and yelling wasn't the way to do that. "Greg, this thing you have going with Wilson – it isn't right. You must see that."

"Hm, last time I checked we were both humans. Though if Wilson was secretly a fox that would totally make sense. He's damn sly that Wilson." House mocked.

"Damn it Gregory you know perfectly well that a man and a woman are supposed to be together. Not two men, not two women – a man and a woman. This thing," John grimaced in disgust, refusing to use the word relationship, "with Wilson needs to end. You should find yourself a nice woman and settle down with her. What about that Lisa Cuddy? She seems interested."

"Good for her." House replied lightly as he began to twirl his cane. "If only I wasn't already perfectly happy with the relationship I'm in I could sweep her off her feet, metaphorically of course, and be perfectly miserable instead."

"That's not a relationship, it's a practical joke!" John snapped angrily.

House's dazzling blue eyes went ice cold. "No what's a joke is you coming down here and trying to give me relationship advice. You and mom don't have a relationship, you have a dictatorship."

"At least we aren't a couple of faggots!" John yelled. He was more than angry that his son felt like he could insult his mother but more importantly him.

"You say faggots, I say lovers." House answered completely unphased by his father's anger. He'd been on the receiving end of it before and it no longer scared him.

The sharp _smack _of John House's and striking his son's face echoed throughout House's office, catching the attention of his fellows who were adeptly pretending not to listen in. "Filth!" John spat furiously, the volume of his voice no louder than a growl. "Worthless waste of space. I should have known that you'd be a disappointment."

Without waiting for a reply, John House exited his son's office more determined to make his son and Dr. Wilson see reason. He knew going in that it would be a fruitless trip but he felt as though he should at least try. Unfortunately he wouldn't have enough time this trip to speak with Wilson. He'd have to find a way to come back without his wife and make Wilson see reason.

By the time John House had returned to his hotel room his determination had been renewed and doubled. He felt sure that he could make Greg's friend see reason. He just had to make sure to use the right kind of persuasion.

* * *

**AN: We, the writers, thank those of you whom are still reading this for your patience. It is taking us a long time to get each chapter out as we want to make sure each chapter is to our standards. Please review and let us know that you're still out there reading and what you think. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

House walked into Wilson's hospital room exuding more cheeriness than he felt. The red handprint left by his father still stung but not half as much as the words his father had said.

Wilson looked up from his bed with a grin on his face. They had told him that he would be released later on today if he continued to respond to the antibiotics and he could not wait. The grin fell away when he saw the mark on his friend's face. "What happened to you?"

"Ran into a door," House answered lightly as he crossed the room and sat down next to Wilson.

"House," Wilson groaned as he crossed his arms.

"Alright, alright, I give – Cameron slapped me."

"Or," Cameron's voice interrupted, "House's dad back-handed him while they were arguing."

"Your dad was here? What did you argue about?" Wilson asked confused. While he didn't think John House would give up, he also didn't think he'd get physical in such a public place either.

"Nothing," House dismissed. "So when are they letting you out?"

"Later on today providing I keep responding to the antibiotics." Wilson answered as he settled back against his bed

"Perfect! I have lots of plans for us this weekend." House rubbed his hands together gleefully then leaned in closer to Wilson's ear. "Most of them involve you in bed." He grinned when Wilson blushed a deep crimson. "Why Dr. Wilson what are you thinking about right now? I merely meant that you'll be too sick to be out of bed."

Cameron slapped House lightly upside the head, "House be nice."

"But mom he started it!" House whined.

"How?" Wilson challenged.

"Well you're just laying there looking so vulnerable and sexy. I can't help where my mind goes." House replied innocently.

"You think me lying in bed sick is sexy?" Wilson asked baffled, "You really are weird!"

House lightly slapped Wilson's arm in response. It amazed him how much of a school girl Wilson could make him feel. Then, like every other time when he starts feeling blissfully happy, his mind flashed to the scarring on the oncologist's back and his mood darkened dramatically.

"House," Wilson prompted, "what's wrong?"

House's head snapped up to peer into concerned and inquisitive chocolate eyes. He plastered on a smile that he knew Wilson could see through and responded, "Nothing. But I should go finish some paperwork before we leave. I won't be back for a couple of weeks and I'd hate to have Cameron do it."

"Since when?" Cameron asked a little more loudly than she meant.

House threw her a glare but bent down to kiss Wilson lightly on the head then scampered out as fast as his damaged thigh would allow.

Wilson turned a confused face to Cameron, "Did he just blow me off to do paperwork?"

Cameron nodded dazedly, "Yeah."

* * *

House scurried back to his office as quickly as his damaged thigh would take him. He was pleased to find that both Chase and Foreman had seemed to have disappeared since his earlier meeting, so he had the place to himself.

He locked both doors and closed all the blinds wanting nothing more than to be alone. His thoughts swirled around him like mist in a forest. Images of Wilson's damaged back taunted him while memories of his past ran quickly through his mind.

A shiver of disgust ran through his body while the gruesome images replayed time and time again. Though he knew he should let go (Nolan would certainly tell him to) it had never been one of his strong suits, hence why he could never forgive Stacy.

Cameron's soft knock at his office door startled House out of his nightmarish thoughts. Grudgingly, he got up and upon unlocking the door, poked his head out, "What?" He snapped irritated.

"I just thought you wanted to know that Wilson's being released into your care as we speak." She answered refusing to back down from House's mood.

House offered a miniscule nod, "Okay. I'll be down in a bit."

Cameron was about to demand that he get down there now but the haunted look in the diagnostician's eyes stopped her mid rant. She closed her mouth defiantly with a cold look in her eyes then walked out and left.

* * *

Wilson sat on the hospital bed in worried anticipation.

House never does paperwork. _Never_! He usually has one of the ducklings (Cameron) do it. So the fact that he blew Wilson off for it made him nervous.

He highly doubted that House was actually doing said paperwork and he couldn't help but wonder what his friend actually was doing.

Doing his best to relax while he waited for House to show, Wilson allowed his mind to travel back to before House had left in such a hurry to try to determine what it was that had set his friend off.

He remembered fondly how much like a teenager House made him feel while he sat teasing the scruffy doctor. He'd seen the glimmer of joy reflecting in the cerulean blue eyes. He knew House had been happy.

But then the glimmer faded and a dark, haunted look came over the irises just before House had fled.

The wheels turned in Wilson's mind like rats were spinning it. Recognition dawned on him like morning dawning on the earth.

He'd seen that haunted look many a times and it always came when House remembered his past and more importantly when he remembered what he'd done to Wilson.

Silently and with a sardonic smile on his face, Wilson shook his head. He didn't know how to help House move on from the past and a part of him didn't want to. A small part of him wanted House to remember what he'd done, remember the pain he'd caused and the damage he'd done so that it would never happen again.

"You ready?" House's voice asked, breaking through his thoughts.

Wilson looked up with a calculating expression on his face. "Whenever you are," he answered.

House limped into the room, the haunted look still reflecting deeply in his eyes beneath his mask of stoicism. He made his way over to the bed pushing the wheelchair he'd grabbed from the ER before he came by. "Do you need help or do you think you can manage to get into the chair by yourself?" House asked, half serious and half chiding.

Wilson gave a scowl worthy of the annoyed oncologist and slowly eased his tired body off the bed. He managed to stay standing but only barely so he quickly sat down in the waiting wheelchair which had somehow come closer while he'd been standing still.

"Ready Driving Miss Daisy?" House chirped from behind the chair. Despite the cheeriness in his voice there was sadness in his eyes. It hurt him to see his friend and lover sick, to see the exhaustion dripping off Wilson like water off a drenched dog. Though he'd never admit it out loud, he looked forward to getting Wilson home and in bed where he can wrap his arms around the younger man and hold him.

Appendicitis wasn't anything to fret about. If the infection didn't respond to antibiotics then came surgery to remove the appendix. He'd always made fun of the patients who sat in the surgery waiting room worrying over their loved ones but if it had come down to it and Wilson had needed surgery, he would have been right there with them if not in the operating room's observation room.

He didn't know what it was about Wilson that brought out the caring side in him but whenever the oncologist was hurt or sick, House's heart hurt for him and the scruffy doctor found that he often wanted nothing more than to make his friend feel better as soon as possible.

"Yep!" Wilson answered trying to keep the exhaustion from his voice. Despite the sweatpants and his favorite McGill sweatshirt a shiver ran down his spine earning him a blanket being tossed on his lap. "Thanks," he responded almost dumbfounded. He knew that House paid close attention to him when he was sick but he wasn't aware at how close the attention was until now.

"Wuss," House gruffly replied before he began pushing the chair out to the car.

They got Wilson in and out of the car with relative ease and House allowed the younger man to lean on him while they walked inside their home. He pretended to be annoyed but in all actuality, he didn't mind one bit. Despite his protestations, he liked cuddling Wilson – a lot.

House helped his friend into the bed where he proceeded to fluff a couple of extra pillows before placing them behind Wilson's back. Without a word to his friend, House left the room to grab a glass of water, Wilson's meds, his own meds and a spare blanket.

"Time for your meds," he called out loudly when he entered the room. He didn't miss the slight wince that had crossed Wilson's features at the volume and almost winced in sympathy. "Here," he said in a much quieter tone, handing the oncologist a dose of pain meds and a glass of water.

Wilson took the offered items and did as he was told. His head was beginning to pound furiously and all he wanted to do was sleep. Unfortunately he'd never been a person who could sleep upright, unlike a certain diagnostician.

"Alright, time for a nap," House prompted as he took the empty glass from Wilson's near limp hand and placed it on the bedside table. Gently, he helped his friend lower onto the bed while he removed the supporting pillows.

Once he was sure that Wilson was comfortable, House climbed in bed beside him and did exactly as he determined he'd do. His arm and leg snaked around Wilson's body, wrapping him up protectively. He snuggled his cheek into Wilson's soft, chestnut hair and gave a gentle, possessive squeeze.

Wilson gave a tired smile that House couldn't see. Though the older man hadn't said a word he could hear everything that House wanted to say and it warmed his heart to know that he meant that much to his friend and lover. "I love you House," he said in a content sigh.

"Sh. sleeping," House answered very much awake.

Wilson gave a soft, breathy chuckle, "Good night House."

House gave another squeeze, "Good night Wilson."


	8. Chapter 8

**Here is the next chapter! We apologize to our readers for taking so long to update and appreciate your patience with us.**

* * *

**Chapter 8****:**

As the days quickly turned to a week, Wilson's health righted itself like a wilting flower given some water. Back to his chipper ol' self, the oncologist was ready to resume work and get out of the loft. While that prospect didn't _exactly_ please House (Wilson cooked a lot when he was bored), he was looking forward to having his free lunch ticket back.

House hadn't seen or heard from his dad since that day he came to the hospital a week ago which suited Greg just fine. Maybe this was a sign that John had finally given up? He gave a mental shrug, ridding himself of thoughts on insignificant people; his dad could jump off a cliff for all he cared. That thought brought a smile to his face lighting his cerulean eyes brightly. When he was younger, nothing pleased little Greg more then to imagine his father's ultimate demise. You'd be surprise how many ways you could imagine a person dying when you've just finished sitting in an ice bath.

But things were back to normal now: Wilson was sitting in his office, House in his, and the ducklings were working hard to cure their newest patient. He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs upon the desk and tossed his ball up in the air. Now all that needed to happen was to figure out this disease and for John House to stay away.

In one graceful motion, Greg caught the ball and tossed in back in the air.

* * *

Wilson locked his office before heading to House's. It was five o'clock and after a long day of patient visits all he was to go home and curl up with House on the couch. Entering House's office, he noticed that the older man was sitting at his desk with that faraway look he always had whenever he was thinking.

"House," Wilson called grabbing the diagnostician's attention, "Are you ready to go?"

House, who had been staring out the balcony door absently watching tiny snowflakes fall from the sky, turned his head to look at him. "Nope, gotta stay and keep my patient from vomiting his insides out."

"Isn't that why you have fellows?" Wilson asked sounding curious more than suspicious. When he received only dazed silence in return he shrugged adding, "Okay, I'll see you later."

"Keep dinner ready. I already have an idea on how to save the idiot; I'm just trying to figure out a way to get it passed Cuddy."

The last part of House's sentence was practically mumbled but Wilson hadn't had a problem hearing it; he knew that tone as well as he knew oncology and he knew what it meant. Wilson knew he should stay and keep House from doing something stupid that would get himself sued – again – but he didn't feel much like running interference tonight and besides he was confident that Cuddy and the fellows could keep House in line for one night; there wasn't really a need for him to stay.

He gave his friend a look that clearly said, _"Don't do anything stupid,"_ which was returned with a smirk that said, _"No promises,"_ before turning and walking out the door.

During the drive home his mind wandered to the day he had first met House. He smiled bitterly at the memory, of just how much of a drunk and depressed wreck he'd been. House had been the best thing that had happened to him in a long time and the benefit of his friendship kept repaying itself over and over again throughout the years; even if it was in small, almost unnoticeable ways.

When he reached the complex, he parked the car and headed up to the loft he shared with his partner, the sound of his loafers hitting the pavement with joint crushing force sounding through the dead air, echoing through it as though he were in a cavern rather than a city. The jingle of keys sounded as he opened the door and walked into the empty home, closing the door behind him. Hanging up his coat, he was so pre-occupied by his thoughts and memories that he didn't even realize that he wasn't alone until he felt a presence right behind him. It was so full of anger, foreboding, and intimidation that when he whipped around to come face to face with John House, Wilson had for a moment wondered why he was so surprised.

"Mr. House? H-how did you get in here?" Wilson stuttered in shock and nerves. There was something in the older man's eyes that made him uncomfortable. This obviously wasn't a friendly visit.

John, after promising himself that he'd do everything possible to correct his son's mistake, had thought long and hard about how to do just that. Hundreds of different tactics had swum through his mind, each sounding as worthless as the last until he'd finally come to the decision that Wilson was the only way he could get his son to see to reason. The oncologist, while seeming like a dummy for dating his son, had otherwise appeared to be an intelligent man. He hoped to be able to make him understand the number one rule in life – men do not screw other men.

He looked at his son's _boyfriend_ – he wrinkled his nose and his upper lip curled in disgust at the thought – and spoke, "I'm a retired marine, James. Do you really think that I can't handle a simple lock?"

Wilson tried not to shrink at the cold tone. Instead, he managed to scrape up some courage – and maybe a little anger at the man for breaking into his home – in the face of those hate filled eyes and said in an even tone, "If you're looking for Greg, he's not here." At the thought of House, a different kind of anger rose up in him. After what John had done to his partner the last time he'd been in Princeton, Wilson found that some of the hate the ex-marine was showing him was returned.

"I'm not here to speak to Greg. I'm here to see you," John said coldly.

"Me?" asked Wilson in puzzlement.

"Yes. You see, my son isn't one to listen to reason. You, on the other hand, are a sensible man. I'm sure you can see the fruitlessness of your actions."

That made Wilson furious; what right did he have to decide what they were doing was fruitless or not? Did this man ever give up? At least Wilson Senor had left House and him alone – even if it did still hurt to think about it – but not John House. He wouldn't give up and seemed determined to destroy their relationship. But Wilson was _not_ about to throw away the thing he treasured most.

"Mr. House I'm sorry that you had to come all the way here just to hear me say no, but I won't, and never will, break up with House." To add more finality to that statement, Wilson opened the door so as to let House Senor out.

But John didn't leave.

With growing rage at being – once again – defied, he reached out and slammed the door shut, barely missing taking Wilson's fingers with it. This action stunned the doctor and John found a strange pleasure in seeing the shock on the other man's face. Spinning so that he was fully in front of the oncologist, John growled, "I will not be defied again."

This time, Wilson did shrink away. The cold and utter fury behind those ice blue eyes was enough to strike fear in the bravest of men. Mr. House took a step closer as he continued to speak, backing Wilson into a corner.

"I will not be disrespected and ignored again, do you understand me? You _will_ stop this foolishness and you _will leave Greg._ I've had just about enough of you fags in the world, thinking you deserve the same rights as the rest of us and disgracing the military because you think you're worthy to be in it and I'm not going to just stand by while you infiltrate my son. You will leave and never come back." With every additional word the anger within John grew until his hands were clenched at his sides showing only a stark white fist instead of a pink hand.

By the end of that outburst, Wilson found himself trapped in a corner in the foyer of his loft trembling in fear as the ex-marine stood before him with disgust, frustration, and hate radiating off his face and fury booming from his voice. He was used to people trying to intimidate him, House never gave up trying most days, but this was different. This time he knew the man before him could squash him like a bug underneath a shoe and wouldn't show any hesitation or remorse in doing it.

"Answer me, man!" yelled John, making Wilson jump.

"No." That one defiant word surprised Wilson, but it had slipped so easily from his lips that it seemed like the most natural response. It was a relief to know that intimidation wasn't enough to make him break off his relationship with House and a part of him wished the diagnostician was here to witness it. There were times when the older man was insecure about their relationship and most times he was convinced Wilson would leave him for one reason or another. No matter how much Wilson tried to assure his partner that wouldn't leave and that nothing could make him, it never worked but he knew this would have.

_Thwack!_

Wilson looked at John with a dazed surprise, a red hand mark beginning to form on his cheek with a purplish undertone already forming underneath. It wasn't so much the slap that had surprised him, though since he hadn't truly been paying attention he hadn't expected the blow, but how much it actually stung. It burned on his face with searing precision. Was this how hard the man had slapped House?

"You will do as I say, boy," the ex-marine snarled. In his anger, he'd let slip the words he had often used when Greg was younger. The phrase had come so easily now just as it had then even though he did not in any way view this person before him as a boy or worthy of any title under that category of human being.

Wilson shook his head, unable to trust his voice to not crack in fear.

The second blow in the form of a fist and was aimed for his abdomen. Wilson doubled over as pain exploded in his gut, letting out a grunt as the air was driven from his lungs. His body tried to curl around the injury in an effort to ease the pain and protect the rest of him but John House held his upper body pinned against the wall.

"I will not tolerant insubordination!" John yelled again, "You will do as I say or I will beat you into submission!"

"No," Wilson coughed doing his best not to gag while he tried to catch his breath. He wasn't expecting the hand that grabbed the scruff of his neck and threw him to the ground and so he collapsed onto the hard surface of the floor barely having time to curl into himself before the kicking started. Flashes of Julie's angry face flashed before his eyes and for a moment he could imagine that it was her kicking him rather than House's father but then another blow would land with such strength that his mind couldn't deny it wasn't that simple.

Over the years Wilson had grown used to the beatings Julie would rain down on him and though they had slowly increased in frequency they had also given him enough time to measure just how long her strength would last before it failed her completely and she would walk away with giddiness and satisfaction in her step. This time he wasn't familiar with the person beating him so he had no idea how long he would have to endure the torture. Though John House closely resembled his father, the ex marine was also in ten times better shape than the older Wilson making each kick not only land that much harder but the entire session last that much longer.

He could hear John House yelling, but was too focused on the pain to really listen to what was being said. His stomach was on fire and when he tried to curl himself up into a ball, his assailant would only begin to kick his arms and legs. As the speed of each kick slowed the precision increased, aiming for the most painful spots that the incensed man could find.

Tears leaked from his eyes as images of his father, of Julie, and his beloved House, angry, drunk, or both, beating him clouded his vision. He tried to shut them out telling himself that that was all in the past, but closing his eyes only seemed to intensify the terrifying memories.

Another kick came landing directly on his left hip crunching spectacularly and Wilson cried out as agony coursed through his body, grinding his hip bones to sawdust with its bare hands. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if the crunching sound was his hip breaking or John House's toe breaking as it came into contact with the metal holding together the bone but mostly he didn't care; he just wanted the excruciating agony to stop. Through the fog of pain Wilson heard an angry shout and he braced himself for another kick but froze in shock and fear when another one didn't come. He peeked out from beneath his bangs to see Gregory House pinning his father up against the wall, practically breaking his arm with the force. Relief flooded him as he realized that House had been the one that had yelled; that House had come to save him.

House had just come home from saving his latest idiot patient and was looking forward to a home cooked dinner, maybe even some cuddling with Wilson if he was brutally honest with himself, when he had heard the yelling. He'd quickened his limping only to walk in on one of the most horrid and enraging sight he had ever witnessed. For a brief moment he stood in the doorway in shock as his body trembled with fury but Wilson's agonized cry quickly put his body into motion and it hadn't taking him long to react. He'd pulled his father away from his partner's semi-curled body and thrown him up against the wall, using every amount of upper body strength he had to keep the maniacal idiot pinned there with his arm twisted up as high as House could push it.

"You monster," he growled in the older House's ear pure fury causing his voice to quiver under the strain. "I'm going to kill you!"

"House," the weak cough came from behind him and he spared a glance in its direction. Wilson was still on the floor, hugging his stomach with one arm and using the other to prop him up, clearly trying to at the very least sit up if not move. He cried out when he moved his left leg, the sound piercing House's heart and stealing his breath, and fell to the floor as he grabbed hold of his thigh holding on for dear life.

"Greg, let me go," his father growled out from in front of him and the concern he had felt when looking at Wilson instantly disappeared at the pained demand. Rage bubbled up and over, causing House to violently throw his father to the ground. Before the other man could get up, House whipped out his cane – he had help used to pin his father against the wall – and struck John House on the head. The older man crashed to the floor unconscious.

"House!" cried Wilson in alarm, but he was in too much pain to much other than lay perfectly still on the floor and doing his best not to cry.

Without bothering to acknowledge his friend's shout, House pulled out his phone and called the police then dialed again to get an ambulance for Wilson. Only when he was finished, did he turn to the injured man on the floor. By now, they had attracted the neighbors and many of them were asking questions (thanks to the front door that House had left open) about what was going on. House ignored all of them, his attention only on the man on the floor.

He limped to his partner and awkwardly knelt down next to him, gingerly lifting the chestnut haired head onto his left thigh. He used one had to soothingly stroke through the thick strands of hair while the other silently checked for injury starting with his head and slowly working down the spine. He could see the bruising hand print on Wilson's cheek making rage surge through his veins with renewed vigor and pain in those chocolate brown eyes that knocked the air from his lungs and dropped his heart to his stomach.

"House," Wilson said again but quickly cut off as fresh waves of pain pulsated through his body, radiating from his excruciating hip.

"Shh, shut up, will you?" House said not too unkindly, "He'll be fine. I wouldn't want to spare him the humiliation of going to prison." A chilling smile spread across his face as every fiber of his being took pleasure in the idea of his father being awake and sent to jail.

Wilson sighed, grimacing when his stomach and side burned with pain, and closed his eyes.

"Hey, stay with me," House urged, touching the other man's shoulder gently and giving it a slight nudge.

"I'm okay," the younger man said in a tone that lacked conviction.

"Yeah, right," House snorted, "Because that wheezing I hear is perfectly normal for human beings." He decided to remain silent on the way his friend was clutching his left thigh like it had been pierced by a bullet and now his life depended on him being able to staunch the blood.

Wilson opened his eyes again and looked into the ocean blue eyes of his partner. He could see the sarcasm that House was worried and tried again. "I'm alright, House, really. It seems worse than it is." True, he wasn't alright, not by a long shot but none of his injuries were life threatening which mean House didn't have any reason to worry.

"I'll be the judge of that," came the reply in a tone so soft it could have been mistaken for a male version of Cameron instead of the taciturn diagnostician.

Just then, the EMTs came through the doorway and went to work quickly getting their two patients onto stretchers then out into the waiting ambulances. House stayed with Wilson the whole time. There was no way he was letting anything else happen to the one he loved.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Cuddy was not in a good mood. After House's latest shenanigans, it was no wonder her perfectly plucked eyebrows and the corners of her _Revlon_ ColorBurst lipstick colored lips were pulled downwards in a deep frown. Only House would think of doing an MRI on a chicken to see if its owner and it shared some who-knew-what-disease-besides-House. She still was a little fuzzy on the details, but somehow House saved another patient. Whether the chicken had anything to do with it or not, that was still one more human saved. Cuddy was just glad that House just _went__ home_.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Cuddy looked back to her desk. There was a stack of folders about six inches high settled right in the center of the desktop waiting to be signed, filed, reviewed, and what not. Another tired sigh bubbled in her chest ready to escape out her mouth but she restrained it. After standing there, manicured hand gripping back of her chair, staring unseeingly at the files for three minutes, she decided that they could wait until tomorrow. Grabbing her purse, coat, and brief case, she made her way to the office door, turning off the lights on her way out. Her mind wandered to happy thoughts of showers and beds as she locked her office doors and bade her secretary good night.

She was halfway through the lobby, just passing the nurse station, when Blythe House entered PPTH's front doors. Surprise and curiosity mixed in Cuddy at the sight of the older woman, wondering why she was here. The _click__ click __click_ of Cuddy's heels punctuated each step as she made her way towards House's mother.

"Mrs. House," she called getting the attention of the other woman, "What a surprise to see you."

Blythe turned her gaze on the pretty doctor coming her way. Dr. Cuddy, if she remembered correctly, was the hospitals head manager, or "Dean" as they called them. She returned the smile Dr. Cuddy gave her. "Dr. Cuddy, it's so nice to see you again."

By that time the two women had met and were standing in the middle of the lobby exchanging polite greetings. Patients and staff moved about them in a busy haze trying to get from here to there as fast or as slowly as possible. It was late, but not so late that the night shift had started already.

"So what brings you to Princeton?" Cuddy inquired. She didn't know much about House parents, but from what she did know, Blythe House didn't do anything without a reason. She was curious as to what that reason was.

"Oh," Blythe relied, "I'm here to see Greg." She smiled warmly causing the wrinkles around her eyes to crinkle. It was true. She did come here to see Greg. With her husband being gone on another hunting trip, she had thought that now was the time to talk to her son. She mostly wanted to talk about his and James relationship, but that was just her being noisy, something that Gregory would surely not appreciate. Then again, though her relationship with her son wasn't the greatest, she did have some privileges – as a mother – to know something about her son's partner. She had met James a few times but she didn't really know much about him. He seemed like a nice young man and if Greg was…attracted…to other men, then he had made an excellent choice. That is, of course, in Blythe's opinion. She also wanted to talk to Greg about his father, something which has been put off for far too long.

Cuddy tilted her head slightly in a sign of shallow sympathy when she informed Mrs. House that her son had left already. "I'm sure you can see him tomorrow when he comes in to work, or you could always go to his loft to see him."

Blythe gave her a disappointed smile at the news. "Thank you," she said then frowned slightly in thought, "I think that maybe it _would_ be better if I see him at his home."

"Oh," Cuddy commented, her snooping trait getting the best of her, "Is whatever you have to say personal?"

Blythe actually laughed a little at the question. "No, I was just going to ask my son about his relationship with James." She left out the part about John, not wanting to feed any gossip tree that might exist in this hospital. After all, she didn't know Dr. Cuddy that well.

Cuddy smiled warmly at that. Ah, yes, House's relationship with Wilson. It was an interesting one at that.

Cuddy was just about to comment when a sudden beep from her pager immediately drew her attention away from the older woman. Her hand instantly went to retrieve her pager from her purse were she had put in in its own pocket. Glancing at the screen, dread filled her stomach twisting it in knots. The ER wouldn't page her unless there was a crisis of some kind or….

She turned on her heels, ending the conversation. Her mind was already going through all the emergencies that could happen and that _she_ was needed for. A fire, explosion, building collapse, sunken boat, plague, bridge collapse, sick family member, sick friend, sick staff member...the list went on. She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she didn't even notice Blythe following her asking what was wrong.

When she had reached the ER, she went straight to where she could see Dr. Jones, the Head of the Emergency Room, standing by the ambulance doors. He was barking out orders to some nurses, getting them ready for an arrival.

"Jones," Cuddy shouted, "Tell me what's going on."

The tall Hispanic spared a brief glance at her before returning to getting things ready. "We've got two ambulances coming in. One of them has Dr. Wilson in it and the other has his attacker."

"His attacker?" Cuddy practically squealed. Her horror was written clearly across her face. "What happened?" she then demanded.

"Dr. House called saying that Dr. Wilson was assaulted by his father and required immediate help," Jones said, still not pausing in his work. He shouted another order which a nearby nurse scrambled to obey.

That was when Cuddy released that Blythe was still with her. The gasp and barely concealed sob attracted her attention long enough for her to see unhindered shock in the older woman's eyes. For a moment, Cuddy felt sorry for Blythe. To learn that your husband beat someone couldn't be an easy thing to handle. But that moment of pity was short lived as the chaos around was interrupted by the ambulance bay doors opening to reveal a tired, pained looking Wilson on a stretcher being wheeled into a separate room for examination. Jones ordered them to get started on treating the oncologist when – to Cuddy's great surprise – the bay doors opened again and in came John House, unconscious, on a stretcher being brought into a different examination room. "John?" Blythe called as he was wheeled passed them. This time Jones followed them into the room, still shouting orders. Cuddy was about to tell Blythe that she needed to leave when the doors, for the third time in five minutes, opened, only this time to reveal a very worried and very _angry_ Gregory House.

Cuddy marched up to him, noticing the pronounced limp as House tried to hurry through the ER.

"House, what happened?" she demanded, quickly looking the man over for any injuries. She had no clue what was going on besides that Wilson was attacked by John House.

House's steely gaze latched onto her with an intensity that startled her. "Where is he?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"Wilson's in good hands," she tried to assure the distraught man before she repeated her question, "What. Happened."

"I'll tell you what happened," House spat before pointing to his mother, "_Your_ husband beat the crap out of _my_ boyfriend!" House was furious. Nobody, _nobody,_hurt his lover. _Ever._ If they did, they were going to wish they had never seen the oncologist by the time House was through with them.

Blythe's chest and eyes stung at the accusation; to have such hate directed to her from her son hurt more than the fact that her husband was now, quite possibly, fighting for his life. Tears filled her eyes as Greg refocused on Dr. Cuddy, completely ignoring her very existence.

"Where is he?" House repeated. This time Cuddy didn't try to deter the diagnostician's determination. She simply pointed to the room in which Wilson had been wheel into. With barely a second glance in their direction, House limped heavily across the ER and into the separate room, disappearing behind the doors. As she watched, Cuddy hoped that he wouldn't try to interfere with the doctors and nurses already working on Wilson. Turning to Blythe – who was still watching the door with tear streaked cheeks – the dean began to usher the older woman to a waiting room, praying that this nightmare would be over soon and hoping for a positive outcome.

* * *

John woke to the sounds of a heart monitor beeping. It was a distinctive sound, one that he had come to learn when he was a marine. The steady _bleep__…__bleep__…__bleep_ was comforting, assuring him that he was still hanging on. Sergeant Botany had always said he was a stubborn one. He never knew when to give up so he just didn't. It saved him a lot of worrying. But he wasn't in the marine core anymore.

Everything came back to him flooding his mind with emotions of hate, disgust, and anger. Flashes of images like a damaged film missing a few frames flew across his vision. He could see James at the door at first surprised and then angry…then afraid. Suddenly the other man was on the wooden floor trying to protect himself from blow after blow, from John. He felt slightly guilty for beating the boy, but he was just so fed up with homosexuals and their twisted views. To him, they were sick, confused people that didn't have their head screwed on straight.

During this thought process, the headache in the back of his skull started to make its presence more prominent. The beat of the monitor changed from bleeping to thudding in a matter of seconds. He was just about to call a nurse when he noticed that he wasn't alone in his hospital room.

In the far corner of the room, seated in one of the chairs that lined the room, was his son. Greg sat leaning back against the back of the chair with his cane resting against his left inner thigh. His intense blue eyes stared holes into John, filled with hate and rage. They didn't say anything but just stared at one another.

The silence stretched on for what seemed like hours but was merely minutes. Finally, the younger of the two men spoke, his tone cold and flat. "Sprained wrist. Two cracked bones, one on the left arm and one on the right leg. Severe bruising to the chest and abdomen as well as both arms and legs. Cracked hip bone on the left side. Mild bruising to the cheek bone. I'd say he has about three months of recovery time ahead of him."

John said nothing. It was obvious who his son was talking about.

Greg continued. "For you, on the other hand, there is only mild bruising to the upper chest, a moderate concussion, and about fifteen years in a state prison."

That shocked John, though it probably shouldn't have. "Prison," he said, his voice raising a notch, "You're going to send your own father to prison?"

"Yup." Just like that. Greg stood, using his cane for support, and limped to the door. All John could do was watch him in a stunned silence. Greg slid the door open and stepped out of the room, disappearing into the halls.

John stared at the closed door. How could this be? He was an upstanding and prideful man. Sending him to prison would be the ultimate humiliation and Greg knew it. Greg _knew__it_. He knew that it would destroy him in a way that no man should be destroyed. Greg, his own son, was feeding him to the wolves. John felt anger surge up in him but was abruptly deflated when he realized that this was his own doing. He should have waited longer. He should have made sure that his son wouldn't have walked in on him. He should have taken James somewhere else. He should have…should have… He should have disowned his son long ago. But he was a stubborn man.

What had he been thinking?

* * *

House entered Wilson's room quietly not wishing to disturb his friend's slumber. He limped to the chair at the bedside and sat. Distain and satisfaction still mixed in him as the residue from his "conversation" with his father. John House was going to prison and in the process burning that perfect citizen portrait that he always flaunted except when he had been dealing with his son. But House didn't want to think about his father. It was bad enough that anger surged through him every time he looked at the bruising on Wilson's body, he didn't need more fury to add to the fire. Otherwise he might blow a top and do something stupid which would take him away from his partner. House didn't want that. Mayfield had been bad enough, but prison would be much worse. So instead, House tried to focus on his relief that Wilson was _going_ to be okay.

Yes. Everything was going to be okay and he was going to make sure it stayed that way.

* * *

From the glass window, Cuddy watched House sit in his non-stop vigil over Wilson. The nightmare was over and though the results weren't perfect, she wasn't complaining. After all, things could have easily been worse. But she tried not to let herself think of "what ifs" because she had learned early on in life that they were just a waste of time.

Heaving a heavy sigh, she thought about that shower and bed that seemed to have escaped her for the night. If she had never met Blythe in the lobby then she would have been on her way home when she would've gotten the call. But that was just another "what if". Thinking about Mrs. House brought her thoughts back to her. Cuddy felt sorry for her. In one day, her husband had been treated for a concussion and her son had practically disowned her.

After they had heard the news that both Wilson and Mr. House were going to be okay, Blythe had left for her hotel saying that she didn't want to see John and that she needed to "give Greg some time to cool down." Cuddy suspected that the poor woman had just needed to get away from everything and gather herself. Not that she blamed the older woman. Everything was kind of hard to grasp, with House's father beating Wilson and all.

Cuddy smiled as she watched House momentarily stand to fix Wilson's blankets before sitting again and restoring his staring contest with the oncologist's chest. He was no doubt watching his lover's breathing to assure himself that Wilson would be okay; and he would be. Wilson would be okay. Those two were quite a pair but she knew that nothing would separate them. They were meant for each other. Yes, everything was going to be okay. _They_ were going to be okay.

She was sure of it.

The End.

* * *

**Well there you have it folks! The story is finished. all things and I would like to thank you for your patience, your reviews and most importantly, for reading! **


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